Apriltober 2018
by NullNoMore
Summary: The plan: a stand-alone story a day, all canon, all short. Frye and Phog sweetness, Gwin the dear dork, Mia, and more Nagi than I could hope for. Plenty of Lin and Tatsu, because I think they're a riot. Of course, as many NPCs as I could squeeze in. All the good stuff, all of it, belongs to Monolith Soft, and please port this baby to to to Switch, okay?
1. 01 Dead

**a/n: Welcome to Apriltober, the follow-up to Inktober, where I hope to write a story a day for a month. This time, I have specific limitations: it has to be in-game characters, it has to be fairly canon, and it has to be 1-2 pages max. I'll pick the best of the litter to submit to an XCX fanzine (I need 5 options), and the rest we shall never speak of. They'll get uploaded as I can, and they'll probably get re-edited often.**

 **First up: Orphe like to eat things, and have little consideration for personal property, which has gotten them in trouble with Prone in the past. In the present as well.**

 **Written on Easter, 2018.**

* * *

 ** _Dead_**

It had been a lovely morning, if a frantic. Hosting an Easter egg hunt for the littlepon of NLA had been fun, and some of the little ones had been adorably decorated as eggs themselves. Hope noticed that she wasn't the only one working across species. There was a small of Orphe and Prone on the edge of Residence Park, tending the vegetation. She smiled to think of all the diverse species working together to celebrate and beautify New Los Angeles. Then the fist fight broke out among them.

She hurried to intervene, but by the time she'd reached them, the confrontation was over. Two Orphe were stretched motionless on the grass, flanking a small tree stripped bare of leaves. A female Prone, glowing with fury, stood above them. Hope bent to check for signs that the victims were still alive. She hadn't the first clue about alien physiology, but surely she could check for breathing.

"It is dead," screamed the Prone. "You and your selfish hungers have killed it a third time. I have forgiven, and forgiven, but once you revive my Great Tree again, I will kill you to protect it."

"It makes no sense to kill us," groaned one Orphe, sitting up after a struggle. Hope noted his feathery feelers and realized he must be one of the swarm of new xenos born in NLA. The other Orphe still bore the jagged antennae of the original settlers. Hope gave the older one a gentle shake, but his eyes remained closed. Hope was relieved, however, to note a small movement in his face, almost a smile.

The Prone continued to scream. "I blame you, Yun'tonam. I trust the strange professor not to repeat the same mistake, but you are one of the fools of the world. You must be beaten into wisdom." She paused. "You are not dead, Professor, are you?"

The motionless Orphe shook his head slightly. "You struck well. I believe I am 98.67% uninjured."

Hope tried to calm the situation, at the same time propping the older Orphe up. "Please. I don't know the situation but violence is never the solution."

His eyes fluttered open. "Even we Orphe can be pushed beyond endurance." His voice grew more precise as it grew stronger. "Do not blame young Yun'tonam, Miss Tenpanzi. I must admit, I do not understand all of this mystery myself. But I can assure you, no Orphe consumed your tree this time."

"It is dead! Or do you think this is a false tree, to replace the one we have been tending? In which case, my tree has been kidnapped!"

"I am quite certain it is the same tree, but as you well know, we Orphe consume our subjects down to the root. None of my species would leave this much delicious stem behind."

"Stop speaking of the Great Tree as delicious."

"I merely state a fact, and one that both Yun'tonam and I have sworn to ignore." He stood up shakily, explaining quickly, both to avoid boring Hope and irritating the fuming Prone. "My name is Mon'barac, and this is Naza Tenpanzi. She is the protector of a Prone religious artifact, their Great Tree. A month ago, she requested my help as a research botanist to regrow one here in NLA. Through cultural misunderstanding, both I and my colleague ate successive saplings. But I assure you, we did no harm to this one. Am I correct, Yun'tonam?" he ended, sharply.

The other Prone stopped chewing something and swallowed suddenly. "I did nothing! It was like that when I got here. I found that leaf on the ground!" Hope positioned herself between the Prone and the hungry indigent, shoving hard against the once-more screaming blue alien. It was up to her to prevent the fight. Yun'tonam seemed too frightened (or guilty) to move, while Tenpanzi was reaching over Hope in an effort to remove the Orphe's head from his body.

Meanwhile, the one that Tenpanzi called Professor was crouched on the ground, examining the litter at the base of the sapling's naked trunk. He rose with a handful of five-lobed leaves, mottled olive and red edged with a light that was slowly fading. He sniffed this bouqet.

The Prone had noticed his action. "You use the cover of your disciple's righteous punishment to fill your stomach! I will kill you first!" Hope couldn't prevent her from turning and smacking him back to the ground. The leaves flew in a tiny whirlwind, before decorating the Orphe like an autumnal shroud.

Hope gripped the furious Prone more tightly. Would it be fair to use Brainjack to prevent further injury, she considered, then rejected that. To take away the freedom of a Prone, only recently redeemed from slavery, was too cruel. She would just have to physically restrain the alien.

Mon'barac spoke from the ground. "Before you kill me, I have a question about the Great Trees of your home planet. Did they ever enter a period of dormancy?"

"No, never! They grow forever, from one rainy season to the next."

"Then, during dry seasons, they retain their leaves?" he asked.

The Prone stiffened in Hope's arms. Hope feared she had been insulted, but the alien's voice held tones of realization. "Yes," she said slowly, "but those are shed shortly before the rains come." She twisted her head to look down at Hope. "I believe you need not clutch at me now."

"If this tree recognizes the seasons on Mira, then maybe that's to blame," Yun'tonan said eagerly.

"Mira has no seasons," Hope pointed out, gently. "At least, none that we've seen so far."

This time Naza pulled Mon'barac to his feet, very carefully. "I still remember when the rains would come. So does the sapling. This is a Great Tree of my people, for all that it lives in your city. Its roots reach all the way to Tormein." The Prone drew a ragged breath. "To my home."

The professor stood and bent over the tree. Then he gestured to the other three, gently holding the tip of a wispy branch in one claw. Even Hope's limited knowledge of forestry allowed her to notice the tender swelling buds dotting every twig.


	2. 02 On Tour

**a/n: Cross asks Lin how she got the job of showing rescued humans New Los Angeles. Boy, does she have a story to tell!**

 **Silly. All the good stuff belongs to Monolith Soft. Port port port!**

* * *

April2018 02 On Tour

"Lin, how'd you ever become so good at giving the tour of New Los Angeles?" Cross asked.

Lin was focused on adjusting the seasoning for her sauce, so she didn't answer right away. "Hmmm, what goes well with Nopon?" Cross heard her mutter. "Sweet to balance the bitter, or umami to balance the dullness?"

Elma answered for her. "Lin wasn't always our main tour guide. Initially, that job rotated among the different divisions."

Lin looked up from the pot and snickered. "Boy, did they do a bad job at times."

It must have been extremely bad. Cross had never seen Elma wrinkle her nose before. It was kinda cute. The Colonel shook her head, and her face returned to its normal calm. "Most of the guides tried their best, but Lin has a gift. We let her take over the job."

Lin did something to the stove and joined them on the sofa. Her eyes sparkled. "You want to hear how much better I am than anyone else? Just wait until I tell you some of the better disasters."

"Really, Lin, I don't think that's necessary," murmered Elma.

"Totally necessary! You don't want Cross to stay uneducated, do you? Let me think. The Mediators were first, because that really fits their job, helping people become comfortable in NLA. Except at the end of every tour, either the new citizen was hitting on Hope or one of the Laras was hitting on the citizen. Or Justin ended up getting them sick on hazelnut coffee frappuccino."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," began Elma.

No point. Lin was quivering with humor. Cross relaxed and got ready for a performance. "The Harriers got selected next. It took a while for Commander Vandham to figure out why enrollment in BLADE dropped to nothing. Turns out, screaming obscure phrases, possibly Japanese, possibly not, at people is not welcoming. After that it was the Prospector's turn."

"The Interceptors, you mean," corrected Elma.

"Right, the Interceptors. They seemed like a good choice, since a lot of new BLADEs join them. They're also really team oriented. Too team oriented. Irina got in a fist fight with somebody who catcalled the tour group, and it turned into a brawl in Barista Alley because of all the Interceptor support."

"That was unfortunate. They did try again."

"Once. No one will tell me exactly what happened, but there's gotta be some reason why I'm not allowed to take the tour near the Repenta Diner."

"Anyway," continued Elma hurredly, "we switched to less combative divisions. Prospectors volunteered."

"Prospectors were volunteered, not willingly," said Lin, smugly. "They pushed it onto Phog."

"Oh dear," Cross couldn't help but respond.

"Poor thing. He tried very hard," Elma said.

"He never spoke a word the entire time," giggled Lin. "No one complained because they felt too protective, but BLADE finally shifted the job when he started encouraging new residents to lick rocks. Let's see, we're half way. Outfitters: Alexa volunteered. Guess what the tour focused on?"

"Skells." "Skells." Her audience spoke in unison.

Lin gave a little squeak of excitement. "Yes, skells. I can't really blame her, because, duh, _**skells**_ , but people never found out where to sleep or eat. It passed on to the Curators. Again, people won't tell me about what happened with them, but I think somebody was found dead in the gel moat below the city."

"That's just an ugly rumor, Lin, and you know it," chided Elma.

"It wouldn't surprise me if it were true. You'd think the Pathfinders should have worked pretty well, since they're supposed to know how to get places. But they kept ditching their tour groups because the new people were too slow. Not friendly at all, if you ask me, and it doesn't matter how pretty they look. Which left the Reclaimers. Hey, Elma, why didn't your division stick with the job? You were the ones bringing most of the survivors back."

"We did, Lin. But as I remember, you kept interrupting us every chance you could. Eventually, I left the job to you."

"Oh. I guess I kinda did that." Lin's face grew sad. "There haven't been many new people for a while, have there?"

"Don't worry, Lin," Elma said gently. "Once we find the Lifehold, there'll be plenty of work for all the divisions. You'll need to train the guides."

"And the better listen good," Lin said, hopping up to return to her cooking. "It's fun talking about the disasters, but I don't want to repeat them. That's never funny. Hey, Tatsu, do you want to be a part of making dinner?"

* * *

 **a/n: Wow, I forgot this one almost as fast as I wrote it. It was fun**

 **Next up: uhhhh, tries to remember ... Trinity? Trinity. There will be Nagi. Squee.**


	3. 03 Trinity

**a/n: Shortly after the arrival of Cross, the three leaders of NLA have a discussion on telling the truth. It gets loud.**

 **I get to write Nagi's voice (squee). No swears (Vandham can behave). Chausson is a lizard man, prove me wrong.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft. Port port port.**

* * *

 _ **April2018 03 Trinity**_

Vandham glared at Chausson. Chausson pretended not to notice. "It was a perfectly understandable miscommunication. I don't see a need to correct it."

"You told the entire city that we'd found 10 survivors. Colonel Elma found one. ONE. Lemme do the math for you. I come up with …"

Chausson dusted a dull grey cuff. "Every reclaimed survivor is worth celebrating. The ECP won't be retracting the statement."

Vandham pounded the small conference table hard enough to rattle the walls. "She went out with a three-person team. She came back as a two-person team, one of them an untested recruit with stasis amnesia. At this rate, BLADE will bleed out before we have a chance to find the Lifehold."

"All the more reason not to alarm New Los Angeles needlessly."

The Commander was on his feet, leaning over the table, and he looked ready to pound Chausson. Nagi decided he'd have to defuse the situation. "Director General Chausson is correct that celebration was in order. Next time, I'm sure he'll be careful about misleading numbers." His voice was dry.

"In the future, in the future, ha!" Vandham mocked. "That fake news is hurting us now. The rate of retrieval has dropped, and you both know it. We're not going to get many more survivors."

"Unless we do," Chausson replied. "I'm not so quick to give up hope."

Vandham's massive form visibly ballooned with rage. Nagi spared a second to wonder what could happen next. No one else in the private briefing room to prevent the mayhem. If the Commander of the quasi-military forces decided to attack the self-appointed Director of the civilian wing, there was no question who the victor would be. The repercussions were unclear. Neither man had the full trust of the city, although both had their supporters, due to loyalty, or dedication to humanity, or calculated self-interest.

Nagi resumed his role between the two men, not so much that of a peacemaker as lion tamer. "Commander," he said sharply, and as relieved to see Vandham blush and sit back down. "You were about to explain _why_ this error is problematic."

"Yeah, well, it's a big problem if the rest of NLA starts thinking we have everything under control."

"You prefer the panic of our initial weeks? The chaos?" Chausson said cooly. Nagi winced at the unpolitic needling, but Vandham generously chose to ignore it.

"People are getting too comfortable. People aren't signing up for BLADE in the numbers they were. They're starting to think that their coffee business or housing development plans or freaking playing card companies are more important. Somebody else will do the boring work of fighting for our survival."

"A problem indeed," admitted Nagi. He'd seen the numbers himself, they all had, but they'd been ignoring it, counting on the Commander's inventiveness and Nagi's inspiration to achieve more with fewer resources. But the Commander was now admitting they'd hit the limit.

Chausson nodded in understanding. "A recruitment campaign, perhaps? The ECP's transmission tower is at your service, of course, for any advertisements you think effective."

Vandham's face suddenly broke into a grin and he snorted. "No. No way." He laughed again.

Nagi had to ask. "What's so amusing?"

"I already have a series of poster suggestions from members of my crew, and none of them are safe for mixed company. One kid even made a mock up, featuring his own superior self. Low res admittedly, but something I did _not_ need on my comm device before coffee." The Commander sighed. "I know morale is important, don't think I don't realize that. Especially when I have to cut the water allotment every week it seems. But we need more boots, and fast."

"We need to protect the boots you have," murmered Chausson. Vandham shot him a suspicious look, but nodded with gratitude.

"We need the Lifehold," declared Nagi. All three men agreed in silence. Nagi turned to Chausson. "In the meantime, can you do anything to encourage civilians to join BLADE?"

"I'll see what I can do." This was the closest Chausson usually came to an absolute affirmative. "There may be undeveloped resources." His dull face, almost as grey as his suit, didn't flicker with further information. Nagi had to be content with that.

Vandham stood up with a sigh. "I guess I'll see if I can get the survivor that Elma found to join. Heard that rookie wasn't half bad, so that's some hope for you, Chausson."

"No," Nagi stated. "Leave that to me. I'll make sure they can't say no."

* * *

 **a/n: I am failing at making my opening notes less cheeky. I'll keep trying.**

 **I hear that Nagi's dialogue with Cross is very different in the Japanese translation. In my playthrough, he never had to ask twice because I was so in for the ride, whooooo! If you are intrigued by failed recruitment campaigns, consider the use of H.B.'s superior pose as a possible poster. I sure did, and I have the fanfic to prove it. Shameless plug remains shameless: "Superior Forms" (and don't I wish I could link within stories).**

 **Next up: 04 Broken System. My favorite BroTP+1: Doug, Alexa, hamburgers. What could go wrong?**


	4. 04 Broken System

**a/n: Doug and Alexa enjoy a meal, until memories of how survivors got on the Whale take away their appetites.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and Alexa x Doug is my BrOTP.**

* * *

 _April2018 04 Broken System_

Alexa's eyes sparkled over the burger she was devouring. She looked at the large silent man across the table. After finishing a sloppy bite, she wiped her mouth and said, "Geez, Doug, you usually don't look this glum on a payday. What's eating you?"

The bustle of the restaurant swirled around them. Doug had been picking at his sandwich, ignoring his fries, and generally not talking much during dinner. Alexa hadn't noticed at first, since she had plenty to talk about (guess the topic, just guess), but once the food arrived, it had become obvious. Every time she had to pause to chew, the table would fall silent, whether he was eating or not.

"Rough mission, I guess."

"What happened?"

He shoved his plate to the side and scratched his chin. "It wasn't the mission. We were beating back that overgrown lizard Sarcosuchus a couple times. Gotta do it to keep him from nibbling on the local stations." Alexa nodded. The giant crocodilian tended to ambush squads in Noctilum, and it was commonplace to see a request for teams in the area to beat it back into its lagoon. "Nothing we haven't done a million times. I guess it's the company."

"Hey hey!" Alexa said with dismay.

"Not this company, the company on the mission. I had a problem with the rest of the squad, well, one of them anyway. Took that Curator, Sharon, along for the ride."

"Oh, her. Doesn't she like to be called Murdress? No wonder you lost your appetite. Did you get sick of her talking about all her money plans and junk?" She imitated Murdress' silky drawl. "'La di dah I'm going to buy all of the houses in New Los Angeles and squeeze the residents for every credit they have.' Barf." She reached across the table and snatched one of Doug's fries, munching on it with satisfaction.

Doug's mouth twisted in a knowing grin. "You've been on a mission with her too, I take it."

"Couple of times. Once I went with both her and H.B., may heaven protect me in the future."

Doug leaned his bulky frame back and shook his head slightly. "It wasn't that money talk. I'm okay with the hunt for the almighty credit…"

"Ya think?!" snorted Alexa.

"… but she started bragging about something else, and it made my skin crawl. About all the strings she had to pull to get onto the White Whale. She started rattling off names of other people she knew were aboard, saying what they'd done and who they'd paid to get on. To hear her tell it, the whole selection process was broken." He tapped his fingers on the table absently, staring across the room. "I don't like thinking about that. I know people that went bad because they couldn't handle things like that."

Alexa nodded. She knew exactly who he meant by "people". She probably should have spotted it by the look on his face. She set her burger down and turned her own plate carefully. "You know, I only got on because my dad knew somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody," she said quietly. "Got me the job detailing skells and that got me safe onto the Whale."

Doug shook his head. "No way. You earned your bearth. You're the Skell Master! Where'd we be without you? Besides, you were in the Earth Defence Force."

"I was the worst soldier they ever had, I swear. And sure, I'm good with skells." Her voice purred for a moment. "MMM, so very good. But I'm not one in a million good. I figure I beat out at least that many other people."

"I think the numbers are off, Alexa."

"Point is, there aren't many of us that can't rattle off 20 people that should have been here instead of us, if we're being honest. But that's how luck is, right?"

"No. You were doing all the right things."

"My friend, down the street? She was doing all the right things too. She'd just gotten her teaching credential, taught a year of kindergarten, and that got her nowhere. Because we weren't going to get off the planet using 5-year olds." Alexa stopped suddenly and picked up her burger again. "Gee, thanks, Doug, you've ruined MY appetite," she said, before taking a big bite.

Doug blinked. "Then why are you still eating?"

"Promised my mom," she replied through a mouthful of food. "She was worried I wouldn't eat right once I joined the EDF, I guess because I tend to get distracted and forget to eat. So before I left home, I promised, every day, I'd sit down and eat one proper meal. The whole thing. I wouldn't stop until I finished."

"Uh huh."

"I do it too," she defended. Then she smiled. "Well, usually. Once a week for sure. It works better when there's someone to talk to."

"Lemme help you," said Doug and grabbed one of her onion rings.

* * *

 **a/n: I love bouncing these two off each other. See (deep breath): Dances with Saltat; Noctilum Picnic; Modern Bromance etc.; and Piece of Cake. (Also Doug and Alexa Do a Test, hysterical laughter.)**

 **Next up: 05 Short End. Doug and Tatsu, two dudes kicking it in Oblivia. There will be too many insects at the end of the story, so some of you may choose to skip forward to 06 Tripod, which will be Frye/Phog sweetness at its purest.**

 **Don't worry, neither Doug nor Tatsu are hurt.**


	5. 05 Short End

**WARNING:**  
 **There will be a lot of insects at the end of this.**  
 **No one is hurt, but some may prefer to skip ahead.  
That's cool.**  
 **Next chapter has adorable Phog/Frye sweetness.  
** **This concludes the Creepy Warning System.**

 **a/n: Neither Doug nor Tatsu are enjoying a rather boring mission to collect collectibles. Then they have too much of a ?good? thing.**

 **All the good stuff, including the common stick insect, belongs to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 06 Short End_

Clearly, teaming with Tatsu has its disadvantages. He can't fight, he can't sneak, he needs to eat and rest in ways that other xenos don't. But it goes further than that. Sometimes he tries so very hard, you can't bear to reprimand him even when he's endangering the rest of the group. Other times, he refuses to attempt the easiest things, and ends up being nothing but a whiny, distracted burden. All these things are very true. However…

Doug reminded himself that Tatsu was the ambassador for all Nopon. He reminded himself that Tatsu's mom Koko was an important caravan leader and a formidable person in her own right. He reminded himself that it would look bad to the other xenos if they left any ally behind. Plus, how would they all survive without Lin's endless jokes about eating the potato?

Doug reminded himself that he was trying to come up with reasons NOT to leave the round alien by the side of the road.

"Meh meh meh, Tatsu tired. Nothing snacky to collect. Also, bottom very sandy now. Ready to go hoooooome."

"You're welcome to start walking," Doug muttered. "It's that way." He continued to sift through the piles of leaves blown along the side of the canyon.

"Too far for walking. Besides, Doug need follow ball, so Tatsu stick with you." Tatsu giggled. "Pretty funny joke. Stick, stick? Doug get it?"

"I get it." It was only a little funny, because, yes, sure, they were a hunt for common stick insects in Oblivia. Common, my sandy bum, thought Doug. Those little critters matched the leaves they sat on so well that you had to inspect each and every one, right up in your face. Didn't help that on the rare chance you grabbed a leaf with a stick insect, they had a tendency to bug out just as you were peering at it. The first time, Doug had yelped loudly before he'd gotten a grip on himself. Tatsu kept mentioning it, repeatedly, always in the nicest way possible, or at least in a way that maybe Tatsu thought was nice. The sympathy of 13-year-olds was not a thing Doug needed in his life.

"Remind me why I'm babysitting you again," Doug grumbled.

Tatsu recited the answer so quickly, Doug wondered if maybe Tatsu didn't also have his doubts. "Linly taking test in Earth language and not want help from friend. Helping not cheating, Tatsu thinks, but Linly opinion different. Unkiepon Dougie agreed to escort Tatsu on mission for Obliva caravan. Also, credits pretty good for extras we find. But sadly not finding, and not very tasty anyway. Tatsu think we should pass it on to other teams and gooooo hoooooooooooome."

"Right." That had been it, thought Doug. Lin had gotten in the habit of calling him uncle, and if that wasn't an unfair weapon, he didn't know what was. He'd have to nip that in the bud before he found himself doing more favors. Favors like testing exploding skells, say. He sighed. It was far too late for that, but maybe he didn't need Tatsu calling him "unkiepon".

He'd just opened his mouth to put an end to that nickname when it happened. He'd grabbed a short stick, a good target since it had a dozen dry leaves on it, when a cloud rose from the ground. A swirling veil of stick insects surrounded him and Tatsu. He was blinded, choked, covered in the creepy critters. It was nothing short of horrid.

As soon as they had risen, the wind blew them away. He spit one out of his mouth, and tried not to gag. After blinking, he realized that for all that ick factor, he hadn't a single one to show for it. Not even the one covered in his spit, which had flown off to join its fellow disgustances. Doug shook out his arms and legs in turn, hoping that at least one of the pricy collectibles was clinging to the fabric. Nope, no such luck.

"MEeeehhhhhhhhhhh!" Tatsu was wailing. Doug looked over and noticed that the fluffy alien seemed to be shimmering. On closer inspection, he realized that several insects were trapped in Tatsu's fur and wing ears. "Meh meh meh!" Several dozen, each worth a nice cash out.

"Stand still!" shouted Doug. He started rapidly picking the critters off the frantic Nopon.

"Meh, meh, Tatsu can't stand it!" wailed Tatsu, still dancing in place.

"Just think, 'tater. Each one is worth a whopping 300 credits. We'll split the extras 50-50 after we fill the initial order."

The young Nopon froze, although he still quivered. "50-50?"

"Yup." Doug continued gleaning insects. "We've already got what the caravan needed, so the rest is purely for us. Count with me now. 300, 600, 900, …"

And that is how Tatsu and Unkie Dougie struck it rich in Oblivia.

* * *

 **a/n: The author may have been present during an earwig hatch and had to pick creepies out of children's hair. Also, one got into the pants of the driver and wasn't that an experience. We were all very supportive as he frantically parked and lurched into the nearby restroom as something crawled determinedly up his pants. Or at least we were supportive once we could breathe after laughing very very hard. We're lucky we didn't drive off a cliff.**

 **Next up: 06 Tripod. Phog and Frye, being bros, goofing around.**


	6. 06 Tripod

**Apriltober 2018 06 Tripod**

 **a/n: THIS WAS THE PIECE THAT WENT INTO THE XCX FANZINE, WIR FLIEGEN.  
** **I'M SO PROUD TO HAVE BEEN PART OF THAT PROJECT. SO MUCH AMAZING WORK, AHHHHHHH.** **  
**

 **More to the point, Frye and Phog have a mission in Oblivia, and Phog shows off his neat toy.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Frye Christoph grumbled to himself as he cleaned his weapons during a break in the mission. He wasn't some neat freak, but he sure as shining didn't want to be at any disadvantage when they resumed the dreary job of thinning out the local giant scorpion population. It was annoying enough how those critters dropped down out of nowhere, straight down onto your back sometimes, knocking you flat (if not dead), but that was nothing on how disgusting they smelled, especially the males. The dudes tended to hoard rotting meat as presents for the females, which left a greasy film on their front claws, which in turn got into every crevice of every weapon. A longsword was quick to wipe clean, but his big baby of a gattling gun needed a lot more tender loving care.

They were resting in a safe zone, right on the outskirts of the local xeno caravan, so he could take his time. Located at the tip of a narrow spit of land, the caravan was almost completely surrounded by Lake Basel, which provided a natural barrier from enemies. Even so, Frye had made sure that another teammate was watching, just in case some critter decided to wander across and mess with them. He wasn't usually so cautious. "Let 'em come, watch 'em fall" was his motto. Actually, his real motto was "bottoms up", but point was, today he'd taken a little more care.

"Frye? Can I borrow your comm device?" Frye turned to see his brother, standing shyly, head bent so low that Frye couldn't see his eyes under that mop of blonde fluff he called hair.

"Sure, bro. Gimme a sec." Frye returned his weapon to fighting shape with a deft series of snaps, then fished out the device in question and passed it over. "Whatcha need it for?"

"I wanted to take some pictures," Phog said quietly. "The cloud cover is starting to break and I want to see if I can get a better shot of the islands."

Frye cocked his head and rubbed the scar crossing his right eye. "Can't ya use your own? They all got cameras, buddy."

"Oh, I need my own for the tripod," Phog said with a whisper of enthusiasm. He pulled a small silver gadget out of one of the many pockets in his trek pants and held it out proudly. Sure enough, resting on his palm was something that looked like a miniature version of a photographer's tripod.

"Huh, kinda cute toy. What good's it gonna do you?" Frye poked the toy and was startled to see it scramble up onto Phog's wrist and cling there. Maybe it was just Frye's imagination, but it looked frightened. It didn't surprise him to see Phog pet it slightly before coaxing it back onto his hand.

"As you can see, my tripod is mobile, but its sentience is fairly limited. Mostly avoiding obvious obstacles and, uh, threats."

Frye leaned in. "Boo," he said with a grin. This time the silver toy quivered but didn't run away.

"Anyway, that's why I need my own comm device. I need to be able to guide it into the best position. It's a good boy," Phog said sweetly, giving it another gentle tickle, "but it doesn't have much clue about composition and focal points."

Once Frye's comm device was securely attached, Phog sent the tripod on its way. Leaning against Phog's shoulder, trying hard not to bump him too much, Frye watched with fascination as his little bro maneuvered the tiny tripod robot up along a curving rock formation. The critter clung tenaciously to the rock face, stopping and swiveling at commands that Phog swiped onto his own device. A tiny pop-up window scrolled thumbnails of the pictures being sent back, and Frye had to admit that his brother might just be on to something. He peered up, spotting the twinkle of the robot at the top of the arch, then looked back at the display. His own camera was being used to snap away at the floating reef on the edge of the lake, the wisps of sky, the curious native creatures that resembled tiny flying orcas. After about 15 minutes, Phog said with satisfaction, "I think I got what I wanted. Besides, the light is getting too bright."

The tiny tripod dropped lightly down from the arch, reminding Frye of their proper mission. "Coolio, my bro. Guess we better get back to beating on those ictuses." He took a moment to check the photos on his device while Phog deactivated and stored away his pet. There were a few that were spectacular. One in particular was lock screen material, if not better: a nodding palm tree brushed curved rock spines, their reflections in the green lake water completing the circle. "Do you want me to send them over to your account?"

"No. I don't need them. I'm happy that you get them."

Frye had noticed that Phog was ducking his head again, trying to look smaller. Stupid kid, he should be proud that he was only a finger shorter than of his big bro. Frye grinned and said, "We need to take one last photo." He grabbed his brother around the neck and held his comm device up for a quick family selfie.

It was horrible. Frye's grin was grotesque, and his scarred eye looked almost dead white. Phog looked terrified and nauseous, his hair taking on a life of its own. Frye examined it with disappointment and shrugged, before hoisting his gun and heading back to the rest of the team. "Tcha, that could have turned out better. Maybe another time."

"Hey, Frye?" His brother was jogging beside him.

"What?"

"Could you send me that one?"

* * *

 **a/n: Like I said, this is part of a fanzine, Wir Fliegen, which has dozens of fabulous art pieces and a good handful of short fanfics. All canon characters, and if you've seen/read XCX fanart anywhere on the internet, chances are you'll recognize several of us. And you'll be surprised by some newer artists too. This was a very welcoming and inclusive project, and I can't say enough good things about the process AND THE AMAZING RESULT. Squee. (Says the woman who still doesn't have a copy because she's too old and tired to figure out online payment schemes that shall remain nameless.)**

 **Next up: 07 Stick Figures, featuring NAAAAAGGGGIIIIIIII. Squee. Do you think he'd be willing to help me figure out how to get a download?**

(Did I mention that the 'zine has Nagi art? And Vandham art? squee.)


	7. 07 Stick Figures

**a/n: Nagi and a team visit the grave marker left by a lost alien race.**

 **Spoilers to "Lesson from the Grave" quest.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 07 Stick Figures_

"This is the location, sir," Elma said. The group gathered around the crude structure. It was a ragged but towering stick figure decorated with strips of dried vegetation and faintly glowing blue rocks. It resembled an alien scarecrow.

The older man stared up at the structure. "Ah yes," Kentaro Nagi murmured. "We still don't have any translation for the central tablet, correct?"

Elma turned to another party member and raised a slender eyebrow. "Sharon, is there anything new from the Curators?"

Unlike the rest of the party, the woman she addressed had not been examining the monument, beside a casual inquisitive scrape of one of the lower rocks. "Nothing. We're stuck with what the Nopon gave us initially. Trust the little rodents to find a priceless treasure that turns out to be nothing but poetry and fairy tales. If you ask me, it's a waste to spend another minute on these twigs."

"That was not a question that was asked," Nagi stated bluntly. His normal frown has shifted from granite to steel.

"Sharon, walk the perimeter with me," Elma ordered calmly. She and the blonde quickly walked away from the strange sentinel.

Nagi continued to stare up at the object. The pale sands hummed eerily around him. His thoughts were interrupted by a small cough. "Nopon find many treasures we not understand. What we not eat get saved for later. Maybe useful someday to scariest of Blades?"

The slightest smile lifted the scar on Nagi's lip. He turned to look at the quivering young Nopon beside him, and met the earnest eyes of the other child on the team, Lin Lee Koo. "Tatsu's right, sir, strange as it is to say that. Just because we don't understand something now doesn't mean we can't figure it out later. Maybe the makers of these pieces, the Mysteriods, maybe they looked like this. You know, tall, four legs, maybe with a carapace or glowing nodes?"

"And maybe we resembled the Sphinx of Egypt, or the statues of the Rapa Nui. No, Miss Koo, their race is as lost to us as Earth, and as far." He paused and considered the girl for a moment. "Tell me, do you dream of Earth still?"

Lin looked uncomfortable. "Well," she hesitated.

"Tell me. I think I can handle the truth."

"Honestly? No. Not anymore. When we were on the Whale, it stopped somehow. I missed things, I still do," she protested, "but somehow my dreams are more about whatever happened during the day, or maybe what I'm worried about tomorrow."

"Like Linlee tell dream about taking test and not..."

"Shut up, Tatsu! No one needs to hear about that dream."

"Then why Linly tell eeeeeeveryone at breakfast? Nopon never have silly dreams, only dreams of food."

"That's because Nopon never have to take tests," snapped Lin. She tried to swat him.

The Nopon was dancing outside of her reach. "Also never wear pants. Pants boring." He jiggled away from her, just fast enough to remain safe from her semi-pretend feints.

The lurking smile showed itself fully, if briefly, on the Secretary's face. "A common enough dream for humans, of any age," he assured the pair. They stopped the moment he spoke and looked expectantly at him. They wanted him to say something more, he realized. But what could be said beyond what the Mysteriods had already left them? He quoted the words easily. "'I record our love here, that we may never forget it, that we may use it as a beacon to guide us as we wander the vastness of space.'"

Lin tugged at her bangs. "That's all we know, isn't it, sir? But they're all dead, at least that's what we believe. I don't want to sound like Murdress, but what good is that love now?"

"Let me quote something else for you, Miss Koo. Something from Earth. 'There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.' There are many more journeys than we can possibly forsee in our lives, but there are a few that we must make without question. Moving into the future is one of those." He gave a formal bow to the altar, his back as straight as his sword. After a long slow breath, he righted himself and turned to the others. "Let's rescue the Colonel from Ms. Effinger, shall we?"

* * *

 **a/n: Squee, I'm starting to get a handle on Nagi's voice. I've mentioned the grave marker before (shameless plug incoming) in "Day of the Dead". Poem from "Lesson from the Grave" quest. Quote from Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey. Music on loop Far Cry 5 OST by Dan Romer, "When the Morning Light Shines In." Steal from the best, kids.**

 **Next up: A sketch, really. Vacuum, featuring that space racist, Alex.**


	8. 08 Vacuum

**a/n: A snippet of dialogue between a man driven to treason by his beliefs and the team sent to bring him back.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, which won't stop me from making a slightly different version.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 08 Vacuum_

"I abhor you," said Alex. "You pretend that being nice is the same as being good. That being liked means you're doing the right thing. You're just opening us up for the destruction of humanity."

"You're working with the Ganglion!" Elma shouted. "They've been trying to kill us since before we reached Mira. Since before we left Earth."

"Please. Both of you, Ganglion or xeno-lovers, both of you have the same aim. With people like you in charge, it may take an extra generation, but it'll happen just the same. Our kids will be left watching the end of everything we tried to save, and there won't be a damn thing they can do. It'll be too late already. At least the Ganglion will spare us that pain."

"They're the ones that destroyed Earth, Alex. What pain have they ever spared us?"

"We were doomed the minute we made that first contact. The infection had started. I'm glad that most of humanity never had to see the truth of what it would be like when we were fully contaminated. And I'm not going to let it destroy what we really are."

"By helping the Ganglion kill us all? You're insane."

"I told you. We're dead already, poisoned by the xenos you've welcomed into our midst."

"If we're already doomed, why help? Why make it happen faster?"

"Or you could just kill yourself and let the rest of us get on with life," muttered Alexa.

"Because I love my own species. I won't let it become something perverted. I won't let it become a spectacle for others to laugh at. Something you should be all too familiar with, you pathetic skell-licker."

"Oh no you just didn't," growled Alexa. Elma gestured for her to lower her javelin.

"It isn't too late. Come back to NLA. We still want you," Elma said, looking at Alex's supporters, human and xeno. "All of you. NLA remains a place of new chances."

"You don't even get it, do you. No point talking to someone who's more alien than human at heart."

The fight was on.

* * *

 **a/n: I saw the prompt, had no idea, wrote the first line as a joke, and laughed hysterically. My brain said, "Hold my beer."**

 **Next up: My brain says, "Hold my other beer." I know I warned people there was nothing for April 9th, but with a prompt like "decaf" how could I resist?**


	9. 09ish Decaf

**a/n: Coffee shop owners everywhere face daily crises. They can get pretty weird in NLA.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and a surprising amount of inspiration is canon.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 09.2 Decaf_

"Jo! What did you DO?" Coco screamed at her loyal but inept employee. Jo, understandably, burst into tears. Coco pinched the bridge of her nose, hard, harder, very hard indeed, and took a breath that reached to Noctilum. "Okay, okay, I shouldn't have shouted. We can fix this, whatever it is."

She looked around her café, usually humming with energy. Her calm slipped a notch. "What IS this?"

"Would you like to try the coffee? Maybe it will calm you down," quavered Jo between sniffles.

"No, I don't want coffee. I want to know why my customers are ALL ASLEEP!" Coco repeated the nose-pinching and deep-breathing routine, all too familiar ever since she had hired Jo. No need to rush to find a solution. Her customers seemed happy, heads down on the small metal tables, faces pillowed in their arms. A few were curled up on the floor. One massive mustachioed figure was sprawled like a starfish in his chair, snoring loud enough to rival an entire totem of horned saltat birds. "When I left an hour ago, my café was buzzing. Now it looks like kindergarten naptime. Oh, Jo, what DID you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I don't think. I stuck with the plastic filter cone, just like told me to. I didn't touch the espresso machine at all. Just made coffee for everyone. Well, the Commander wanted a depth charge, so I tried to use the French press once. And I'm really sorry about that. You can take it out of my wages. Anyway, he was okay with getting an extra large instead."

Coco glanced at the counter, now absent one glass press. Then a horrid idea struck her. "Oh no. OH NO. Jo, you're a disaster with machines, right?"

"Well, disaster is a bit harsh. Utterly bad with them, maybe? Train wreck?"

"We're machines," hissed Coco, eyes wide. "What if … what if you're starting to glitch the rest of us?"

Jo echoed her boss in horror. "Oh no. No no no … wait, I'm a machine too. Shouldn't I be the first victim?"

"You're right! Phew, that's sort of a relief." Jo walked around the café, counting the bodies, um, customers. "Okay, let's assume we aren't talking something of city-wide seriousness. It's just one of those daily crises that small restaurant owners face. Tell me exactly what happened, minute by minute."

Jo tugged a pigtail in thought. "Well, everyone was settled when you left. It actually emptied out for a bit when three tables left for missions. I cleared the cups, replaced the tray for dishes (don't worry, I didn't load the dishwasher), and restocked the pastry display. It didn't get busy until later, which gave me a chance to talk to that cute guy from the Alley. He's kind of weird, but very charming."

"What guy?" Coco asked with suspicion.

"Come on, you know the one. Tall, blue, kind of gorgeous. Fantastic accent and those adorable swooping horns. He was in a very generous mood, too. Gave me a a big sample of his new product to try on the customers."

"Mrgr grgr," muttered Coco.

"They really seemed to like it. Well, at least, I think they did." Jo looked at the slumbering clientele. "No one complained."

"Because they're all asleep."

"No, really, they drank the coffee. Even the Commander, and you know how picky he usually is." Jo grabbed the extra-large mug from his table just as he let loose a snore that was part buzz saw, part first stage rocket booster. Jo waved the empty mug around like evidence. "He drank it all, right to the last drop."

"Let me see whatever L gave you." Jo handed her what looked like a typical coffee bag. Coco examined the label and shook her head in resignation. "I can't even get angry at you. That silver-tongued blue-bellied snake! I told him last week that I had no interest in test-marketing any of his dangerous products. Combine that with your, uh, talents, and this is probably the least amount of weird that could happen." She sighed. "I'll give them another hour before I call the Mim Maintenance Center. Maybe they'll wake up on their own."

"Was it poison?!" Jo squeaked.

"Worse. Decaf."

* * *

 **a/n: Yes, I wasn't going to write anything for April 9th, since I already burnt up the keyboard with Doug & Alexa Do a Test pt. 2 that morning. But after dinner I peeked at the prompt, thought of these two NPCs, thought of the time L tried to sell addictive salsa, thought of the time Vandham fell asleep in the chair, and it was on.**

 **Next up: Bunny Hop. "Bunny suits for everyone," hissed Eldest Child. I went slightly different, but only barely.**


	10. 10 Bunny Hop

**a/n: Inspired by L, Tatsu has learned a new dance, because he's a Nopon of Culture.**

 **Stupid silliness, and all the real good things belong to Monolith Soft. Port XCX to Switch and patch in more bunny suits, please.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 10 Bunny Hop_

Things were not calm in the barracks lounge when Elma returned from her mission. A rotund alien was leaping on and off the low central table, stopping only to gyrate or to waddle backwards in a sort of wobbly moonwalk. A mix of several tunes were blaring out from a candy-colored comm device perched on the kitchen counter. It had been a long day, and she didn't feel mentally composed enough to resolve another mystery of Mira. She bought herself some time by stowing her weapons, but he was still at it when she came back. "What are you doing, Tatsu?"

No response from the dancer, nor from the human girl puttering about the kitchen. Elma moved to block the path of their alien guest, but he swerved suddenly and shimmied nimbly around her knees. She repeated her question, this time directed at Lin. "What is he doing?"

Lin didn't turn around to answer, or even acknowledge their team leader. Elma ruthlessly surpressed a rush of impatience. She moved close to Lin and tapped her on the shoulder with exaggerated care.

"Oh! Wha-?!" Lin dropped the wooden spoon from her hand and whipped around to look at who was there. The girl pushed back her straight black hair and popped out a fluorescent earplug. That explained her lack of response, but still left the situation confusing. "Oh, hi, Elma. Ugh, he's still at it. Sorry about the noise. He's been like this since we came back from shopping. L gave him an idea and it kind of blossomed like a mortifole."

"What exactly is going on?" Elma was disappointed in herself at the sharpness of the question.

Lin's eyes widened with discomfort. "Maybe he should explain."

"He's not listening."

"I can fix that." Lin lobbed a chunk of vegetable, the end of a carrot if Elma had to guess, at the Nopon. It bounced off his flapping green hat, and he snagged it in mid-air, popping it neatly into his mouth. It was a smooth motion, but it did halt the worst of his bouncing. "HEY! TWINKLETOES!" shouted Lin. Elma tried not to flinch. "Tell the Colonel what you're up to."

Tatsu turned his bespectacled face towards the two humans. Still swaying slightly, he said proudly if breathlessly, "Tatsu trying human dance. Must learn all arts and crafty. Important for Ambassador of all Nopon to be multicluttered."

"What?" questioned Elma, but Tatsu was again enthralled by dance.

"I think he means multicultural," explained Lin. "L was talking about the new product he's trying to sell. Bunny suits for the guys, with high heels and little fluffy tails, the works. He made a video." The girl giggled and blushed.

Elma smiled gently. "I heard about this. For some reason, the heads of the ECP aren't supportive of any further development in that area."

"I bet the Commander is afraid he'll lose a bet and end up wearing one," snickered Lin.

"That hardly explains Tatsu's behavior."

"I told you L made a video. A music video. The guys were dancing and stuff."

"And Tatsu was inspired?"

"Yup. He wanted to be in the video too. I couldn't make him understand that no one on Mira or any other planet wants to see him in a skimpy outfit. The best I could do was get him to choose a different kind of dance."

Elma watched the Nopon's motions critically for a moment. She sighed. "I give up. What's the dance?"

Lin's face broke into a huge grin. "The bunny hop. He's following it pretty well, if you strip off all the embellishments. Like jumping on the table. STOP JUMPING ON THE TABLE!" (Tatsu did not stop jumping on the table.)

Elma gazed at the chaos again with critical eye. Sure enough, there was a certain forward and backward regularity to the choreography, and the bounces, enthusiastic even by Nopon standards, did come mostly in sets of three. Moreover, the young alien seemed just as energetic as he had been when she'd first returned.

"You say he's been like this for a while."

"Yup. This is hour two."

Elma sighed. "I'm going upstairs to take a bath. Ping my comm device if he ever stops."

* * *

 **a/n: Write what you know. I know the exhaustion that comes from living with middle schoolers.**

 **Next up: Ice Tea. Irina offers to pack a picnic. Oh yay.**


	11. 11 Ice Tea

**a/n: Irina's team suffers some damage at Lake Ciel. It's her job to calm an injured Gwin.**

 **All the good stuff belongs to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 11 Ice Tea_

Irina couldn't pinpoint where the howling was coming from, but she could tell it was human. She swiveled her head back and forth slowly, trying to perceive even the slightest difference. Her silver-grey eyes were shut to help her concentration, although this was more symbolic than useful. The current heavy spore event had already effectively blinded her.

The sounds were uneven. At first, there had been a few honest shouts and frantic splashing, ruthlessly cut short. Now it had dwindled to a constant weak panting mixed with muffled groans. "Screw this," she thought. "The Ganglion aren't going to wade into the middle of this freaking lake to get us, and if the local indigens haven't heard Gwin's caterwauling, then I'm sure they've smelled him." She risked an identifying shout and was relieved to hear her third teammate's voice.

"This way, Lieutenant. I'm right by Gwin's wreck," Marcus's voice drifted through the fog.

"Tell me if I'm getting closer," she shouted briefly.

"Keep coming," was Marcus' reply. Then a weaker voice, clearly Gwin's. "Marco."

"Oh for crying out loud," Irina grumbled to herself.

"You're supposed to say 'Polo'," added Gwin loudly. Irina growled and hurried in their direction, even as she heard a clear hushing noise from Marcus. A large shadow loomed to her left and a moment later she stumbled over the pair. They were crouched next to a crashed skell. Gwin's skell, she noted immediately. Marcus kneeling in the water, keeping Gwin's head just above the surface of the lake. He couldn't do more than that because Gwin was pinned underneath the wreckage.

"Hey, you're supposed to keep your eyes closed when you play," complained Gwin. He twisted to look at her, but immediately shut his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Irina dropped down beside them. "What is _wrong_ with you, Gwin?" she hissed.

"Many things?" he gasped between agonized pants.

"I hit a few switches to make him less responsive to pain," explained Marcus, "but I don't want to take him fully off-line. He's gonna be a little goofy." He shifted Gwin, holding him a little more firmly. "When the skell toppled over, it got him solid."

"What a klutz," grunted Irina.

"Sorry, teacher, I'll finish my homework during lunch," Gwin mumbled.

"Shut up. Marcus, how's your skell?"

"So-so, Irina. My main weapon systems went down right before Gwin blocked the big attack."

"Can you fly back to the shore-side outpost to get help?"

"I'm gonna need to hunt and peck in this muck, but I can do it."

"Lemme have him," ordered Irina, shifting to hold her injured teammate's head. "Go." Marcus slipped into the spores, and she could feel the rush of wind as his invisible skell left them.

"Rotten luck, huh, Irina? First the aura sends those critters into a rampage, then the spores cut us off."

"This fog is probably what saved you."

Gwin started to nod, but froze immediately with a gasp. Irina chided him. "Relax, idiot. I don't know what Marcus did to you, but I'd appreciate if you'd stay quiet."

He didn't stay quiet, but he at least he was whispering. "Thanks for staying with me."

"My skell is down too," she said shortly. That shut him up, or maybe it was the pain. He was gritting his teeth and panting again. "Hey, I told you to relax."

"I'm doing my best," he wheezed. "Kinda hard to ignore a skell up my butt."

"Watch your language," she snapped. "Think of something relaxing."

"Not coming up with anything, Lieutenant."

"Think of a picnic," she said with sudden inspiration. "On that weird strip of beach in Noctilum. Next break, we can all go there. I'll pack a picnic." Irina checked him worriedly when he made a slight gagging sound. She pushed the stupid flop of hair out of his face, only to have it fall back immediately. He didn't seem any worse. His eyes were closed and he wasn't breathing so painfully hard. "We'll drink ice tea, go swimming, maybe play that stupid game."

"Marco," Gwin whispered, dreamily.

"Polo," she whispered back.

* * *

 **a/n: D'awwwww. Enjoy the moment, Gwin my boy, because that's the closest to a cuddle you ever will get from Akulov.**

 **Next up: Gestation. More of a sketch than a story, as I try to remember everything I can about Pharsis besides the fact that she shredded my skell. So. Many. Times.**


	12. 12 Gestation

**a/n: One possibility for considering Pharsis, the Everqueen. Probably inaccurate, but if not, NLA is in big trouble.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, including Pharsis.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 12 Gestation_

Pharsis swung gently from her claw tips, disturbed by a slight breeze that slipped into the glowing sphere from its single low entrance. A ripple flowed across the pool beneath her, and made her reflection shimmer. One of her forelimbs fluttered gently past her jaws, stroking the curve to its deadly tip.

No one had disturbed her for weeks. A few months ago, the recent intrusions on this planet had visited relentlessly, out of curiosity or malice or pride. Each time Nacidon had dealt with them with much the same attitude, feeding on their remains distractedly before slipping once more into her peaceful doze. Their presence had become something that peppered her dreams more thickly than the native animals that had made themselves her companions, simple creatures little more than floating claws. The intruders weren't interesting or challenging in themselves, but they reminded her of her origins in the depths of space.

Their numbers had dwindled, then nearly stopped, and the Everqueen had returned to her sleep, quietly feeding on the ether that seeped slowly into her prison. The planet had confined her in this giant sphere when she first arrived, and injured from battle as she was, she could not resist. Instead, she slumbered. She dreamed of her opponent she had fled, another of her species, and of the battle that had ended in her defeat. She had been gravely wounded, but she had not been willing to surrender. As she had retreated in a hopeless panic, she had slipped into the control of this strange place, weirder than any planet she had ever encountered. It had taken her in, and trapped her, and even fed her, after a fashion.

The planet had held her, in her timeless dreaming bubble, in this changeless state, but the newcomers had disturbed her often enough that her consciousness had returned to her, stitching her mind back together with ever tiny piercing attack she deflected and every destroyed vehicle she snapped between her jaws. Each period of wakefulness reminded her that her sleep had only seemed uneventful. The work of healing had progressed, and now when she flexed one limb or another, she felt her armor slide together perfectly. Her power flowed directly from torso to shining claw. Her jaws were once again unchipped and deadly.

Another work had progressed, and was reaching its conclusion. She felt something shimmering within her body, a great tide of life that she had nourished with every drip of ether granted her. They would emerge soon, each not much larger than those alien visitors, as inquisitive and violent as her enemy, and as hungry as their mother. What little they had tasted, they would seek out and consume, before consuming the ether of the planet itself. Then they would all, mother and children, resume their journey into the depths of outer space.

* * *

 **a/n: Behold my attempt to remember what I could about Pharsis beyond the fact that she destroyed so many of my skells. Us moms gotta stick together.**

 **Next up: 13 Fake Lawn. Gwin and Mathias on a field trip!**


	13. 13 Fake Lawn

**a/n: Mathias has a theory about the bird in Sylvalum, and Gwin goes along to help him test it.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, including some pretty swell indigenous critters.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 13 Fake Lawn_

The young man crouching behind the convenient rock was quivering with glee, but he still managed to keep his comm device steady. His companion, almost identical in form but with darker hair, was far less excited. The expression on his face was too polite to be boredom, but it was close. After another handful of minutes, he arranged himself in a more comfortable sitting position, took out his sidearm, and started to clean it.

The first man, an dedicated Curator ("Prime Collectibles or Perish"), shot him a sharp glance. "Stop it, Gwin. If they hear you, they may scatter."

Even the deepest friendship couldn't keep Gwin from rolling his eyes. "I'd like to see a bunch of two ton turkeys scatter. That would be memorable."

"Please put that away," repeated Mathias.

Gwin did as requested, albeit with a sulky frown, and returned to kneeling beside Mathias. "You can't convince me they noticed any tiny clicks from this far away."

"Metallic clicks. Not natural. We still don't know how aware they are of us, or how deeply they'll react to threats."

"You give those liceor too much credit. They're dumb as rocks. Boulder-sized rocks."

Mathias' serious expression slipped slightly. "Even the dumbest indigen starts to notice weapon sounds." He hadn't stopped filming the group during this entire conversation. "Now be quiet. I think there may a chorus soon."

Three huge birds, easily 2 meters tall, surrounded a fourth in a semi-circle, trudging first to the left, then to the right. Before each switch in direction, they made a deep bow in unison, their wingtips sweeping the sand away from in front of them. The center bird would bow in turn, steepling its wings in front as if in prayer. Then, still bowing, it would spread wide its wings until they almost met behind its back. These repeated motions had built a miniature amphitheater of low dunes around the group.

The humans watched for a moment longer. Then Mathias sighed as the indigen resumed marching. "Not this round, but I want to wait a little longer. I really think this time will be the one."

"You said that last time," commented Gwin.

"I said that we were getting close last time. I think we're past the tipping point now."

"Good, because it feels really weird to be installing fake lawns in Sylvalum."

Mathias smiled at the description, not so far off from the truth. For the past month, he and Gwin had been observing liceor in the White Land, and in some cases, placing artificial matting in the midst of some of the flocks. Like their cousins, the saltat, male liceor sometimes formed dance societies to practice the crucial mating dances. The oldest, most respected males were distinguished by cleared areas around them. The more respected, the larger the clearance. Mathias had a theory that he could force a change in status by artificially increasing the area, using a plastic matting that resembled the clean-swept pearly ground, the fake lawn of Gwin's comment. They'd returned to this group several times, adding increasing slivers of carpeting around the main bird, but the behavior of the rest hadn't changed.

They waited, patiently but eagerly in the case of Mathias, with resignation in the case of Gwin. And (because there'd be little point in in in describing the situation otherwise, okay?) finally it happened: the distinctive chorus, as first one young bird, then the second, then all three, puffed out their chests and gave a blast through their horns. The central bird swelled to exaggerated dimensions before releasing his own call, higher than the others and including a blizzard of bubbles that almost reached their two observers. This was repeated a dozen times over the course of the next few minutes. Mathias recorded every note with satisfaction.

* * *

 **a/n: Not quite canon, being more a description of saltat behavior. Fite me. I may also know a thing or two about Garibaldi fish and experiments to improve their algae "lawns". Look it up and learn something adorable.**

 **Next up: 14 Song Lyrics, Alexa continues to make fun of Gwin while he tries desperately to get a word in edgewise. Because this is fiction, he eventually gets a chance.**


	14. 14 Song Lyrics

**a/n: Gwin doesn't want to fly home. Alexa has her suspicions, all of them wrong.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft and Sawano.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 14 Song Lyrics_

"Hey, Alexa," Gwin called over the comm device. "Could we, uh, maybe not fly home?"

"What's up, pup?" she replied. She swung her skell around so she could check his ride. Ares 70, limited but useful in a pinch, suited Gwin perfectly. "You're not out of gas or something? I told you not to lean on your biggest gun."

"No," he stammered.

"Because there's more than one way to skin a cervus," she chided. "Once we get home, lemme kit you out with some better augments and those cute skell pants, the really tight ones, and I can boost your performance in ways you never dreamed."

"No, honest! Thanks!" His voice was squeaky.

"Suit yourself. Why not fly then?"

"I kinda prefer ocean travel," he replied.

Alexa suddenly understood and laughed. "I get it. You want to scoop up some of those shiny collectibles. After the almighty credit, right? You must be spending too much time with Doug." She didn't listen when he started to protest. "That's cool and all, but I wanna get home asap and write up the results of these tests on diskbombs, because I have IDEAS, ones that will have people breaking down the doors of Grenada to get some of that sweet sweet boom kaboom."

"NO," he interrupted, then said with stubborn emphasis. "I just want to use ground travel today."

"You skell sick? You didn't say anything when we were testing stuff."

"Not skell sick. Come on, Alexa, please?"

Alexa marched her skell, a tricked out Lailah Queen (not that the base version wasn't a yummy ride), right up to the face of the Ares. "You got me curious, dude. For the love of mechs, why don't you want to fly?"

She heard an unidentified thumping over the comm link (FYI Gwin was pounding his head against the pilot restraints). Finally, Gwin replied, "I'm so sick of the music."

"The in-flight notification music?"

"Yes. That. I can't stand to listen to it again. It's stupid."

"It's supposed to let a pilots organically know their status without looking. Something for ground, something for combat, something for flight."

"Have you listened to the lyrics? Really listened, Alexa?"

"No," she admitted. "Not recently."

"Stuff about rainbows and dancing and fire. It makes no sense, and something about it is driving me nuts. Who chose it, anyway?"

"The Commander, I think. I know he's responsible for the muzak around town. Gwin, you know you don't have to listen to it."

"When I shut the sound off," Gwin whined, "I miss all those other useful pings and beeps. The one that warn me I'm about to die."

Alexa laughed. "Oh sweetie, didn't you know you can program a new playlist? I'll show you how when we get back."

"Show me now."

"No. I wanna get home. Patch into my sound and let's get going." She tapped a few buttons and lifted off. She checked to see that Gwin was following, then boosted the volume a little.

 _"Quand il me prend dans ses bras/ Il me parle tout bas/ Je vois la vie en rose..."_

* * *

 **a/n: I'm getting way too good at using Alexa's voice. Mmmmmmskelllssssss.**

 **Next up: A Punch. It's so good, so very good. H.B. and Frye, can you not stand it?**


	15. 15 A Punch

**a/n: Frye and H.B. are terrible friends. The worst. Especially when Frye is bored.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and the inspiration for this friendship comes from Deltheor.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 15 A Punch_

"Come on, it'll be great." Frye smiled broadly at the more slender BLADE.

"That is the most ludicrous idea I've ever heard," sniffed H.B.

"No, no. It's easy and educational. You go first."

"No."

"Chicken. I won't try to kill you anything."

"Like you could," H.B. snapped back. "Mimeosomes are built more sturdily than most people realize. Which may go a ways towards explaining your continued survival. And I hardly see the educational merit of punching each other in the face."

"Just one punch," wheedled Frye. "It's plenty educational. We'll learn how hard the other guy can slug."

"Which is exactly useful how?"

"Next time you're on a mission with me, I'll know just how much I can rely on you."

"Frye, we usually are in skells, and generally are fighting swarms of indigen. No fisticuffs required."

"Pleeeeeease?"

"No."

Frye sulked, sticking out his lip in an exaggerated manner. "You're a real spoil sport." No response from the Pathfinder was forthcoming. Frye dropped his voice. "Plus you owe me a Christmas present." He smiled when H.B. flinched. His voice still quiet, Frye continued. "You don't want me letting it get known how you were too broke to give your best buddy, hell, your only buddy, even the tiniest rock orange on Christmas. Financial insolvency doesn't look good to the leadership."

"You wouldn't dare?"

"Dare? Now we're talking. Hmmm, a punch or a dare, which one will it be, my dude?"

H.B. sighed painfully. "Once again your devious backhanded behavior wins the field for you. Fine. One punch, each. To the face?"

"To the mouth."

"I only hope you aren't too injured as a result." H.B. took a step away, sized up the upward angle to reach Frye's mouth. "Are you ready?"

"Just go for it."

"Are you sure?"

"Need a better target? How about I grin for you?" Frye gave one of his famous leers.

H.B. slugged him square in the mouth. Frye's head snapped back and he took several quick steps back, flinging his fists up in defense. After he'd shaken his head a few times and spat out a quantity of slimy blue spit, he tried to grin again, but quickly stopped. The humor was gone from his voice. "Okay, that was a punch. My turn."

H.B. felt sick to his stomach. Once again, he wondered how he let Frye persuade him to do this kind of nonsense. However, he'd made an agreement, albeit a foolish one. He quickly removed his glasses and tucked them in the side pocket of his pants. "Ready." He willed himself not to close his eyes.

Frye shook his head again and to H.B.'s slightly hazy vision (how could mimeosomes be near-sighted, and why had it happened to him) it looked like the man had managed a puffy grin. "Got it right here." Frye handed H.B. a flask. "Cactus Punch, new at the Repenta. The base is some of Prof. B's mescal plus lime juice, but I added some extra flair. Bottom's up, H.B."

By the end of the evening, H.B. was lying in the gutter.

* * *

 **a/n: That was fun.**

 **next up: Horrible Man. Different format and some lingering head canon about Powell the Pizza Guy.**


	16. 16 Horrible Man

**a/n: What if Powell the Pizza guy's wife didn't commit suicide? What if something else happened that stormy night?**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 16 Horrible Man, a story in dialogues_

 _(a hurried meeting below the Commercial Level)_

 **"I can't thank you enough. This means … this is something I stopped hoping for."**

"Don't make out like it's something nice. It's just business. I needed a guinea pig, one I could trust to keep her mouth shut."

 **"I don't know what I would have done."**

"Enough of that. Let's go over it one more time. Soon as the next big nighttime rainstorm hits, somebody will come into the shop and say…"

 **" 'It's raining cats and Ma-non.' Then I say, 'Better than Prone.' He won't like me joking like that, not with a customer. He's jealous."**

"Won't matter to you."

 **"But the customer…"**

"Don't worry about that. He'll never be seen again, at least not so anyone would recognize him."

 **"Of course."**

"Then what?"

 **"I go out on the next delivery, like normal. What if I'm not there? There's so many deliveries."**

"All the better. He'll wait. Come back if necessary, and don't start with the worrying. He'll look different. As many times as necessary."

 **"And I won't feel it?"**

"Not if everything works out. You'll wake up, 20 clicks from town, new everything, and an empty head. Sure you don't want to be a man? It'll hide you even better."

 **"No. It'll be hard enough pretending I don't recognize anything. Pretending to be male … no, I can't do that. Are you sure they'll believe me?"**

"We'll make the scene reliable. I've got a guy, knows what hexes have been cleared and which haven't. There's still some black on the grid."

 **"But amnesia? That's so farfetched."**

"This long after the crash? Not so much. Stasis amnesia happens. They'll be so sick happy to find one last survivor, they won't ask too many questions. Don't…"

 **"…worry, I think I get it. I'm almost starting to let myself believe it. In a week I'll be safe."**

"Less than that. A storm's predicted for Friday. Drive safe until then. We only want our accident, not a real one."

 **"I'll be very careful. More than I have been."**

"One thing, and I'm not saying it's anything big, but there might be a problem with the Mediators. They aren't all as dumb as they look."

 **"I have a good customer. I could let him know."**

"Not a good idea. Best way to keep a secret is to keep it."

 **"I would trust him. He's tried to help me before."**

"Yeah, and how much good did that do ya?"

 **"He … I didn't want him to get hurt."**

"If we do this right, no one gets hurt, and I get even."

 **"I thought it was business."**

"Personal business counts. Besides, even a creep like me gets tired of seeing him hurt you."

* * *

 **a/n: This has been rattling in my head for a while. You know Powell wouldn't have been good to anyone. Not even his wife. Especially his wife.**

 **Next up: Something lighter? With the prompt "A Fate Worse Than..."? Hope and Phog are featured.**


	17. 17 A Fate Worse Than

**a/n: Hope and Phog are busy getting to know the population of NLA. Phog is taking to it like a duck to lava, which is to say, very badly.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 A Fate Worse Than..._

Hope fluttered next to her partner, her gentle face full of concern. "Are you sure you don't need a break?" She had to lean close to him to hear his whispered response.

"No. I'm fine." Phog gave her a painfully false smile and pushed away from the wall that he'd been almost crumpled against moments before. "It's important that we get this done."

Hope silently agreed with him, but still she worried. The ECP had decided that now was the right time for a census of the city. Every inhabitant was supposed to send in a survey, answering a range of questions, from age to education to average weekly credits earned to number of comm devices owned. For the most part, people either filled in the paperwork within the week. Now she and Phog were tracking down the stragglers. Most residents promised to get right on it as soon as Hope explained why they were visiting. Hope knew she'd probably be back, but she believed they'd eventually come around. But a few, like the last household, had been hostile.

Hope had sympathy with some of the concerns. Certainly, some of the questions were intrusive, like the average work week, a sore point in a city so desperate for any and all hands to push them forward. Some seemed foolish (how many refrigerators did the household own). And this project, while vital for the planning of future development of the city, seemed very much a waste when there was some doubt if the whole human species, never mind the city, had a future.

But Hope was true to her name. She believed they would find the Lifehold, and when that happened, she wanted New Los Angeles to be a place that was able to welcome and house and support all their lost citizens. She didn't even have to look that far forward, because it was becoming clear that right now there was much that needed to be done to help NLA. The crowded conditions in some of the civilian housing was frankly worrisome, not just for the happiness of the residents but from the obvious perspect of things like fire safety.

She would have been content to take the negative along with the majority positive responses except for one thing. Every time there was a conflict, whether a muttered insult or a chatty disagreement, her partner seemed to suffer. After each door was closed, sometimes slammed, in their faces, he shrank. It was hard to watch as him hunch down lower and lower until he was almost ducking behind her. It looked painful.

"That's the last of Ishmael Heights. It would be a perfect time to stop for the day, unless you're up for another sector," she said, trying to balance sympathy and encouragement.

"One more. I can face one more."

She nodded. She straightened her posture and took a deep breath, hoping he'd take the cue and follow suit. He did, slightly pulling his head from between his shoulders, but the slouch was still there. Still, she was pleased at his continued helpfulness. She looked down at her comm device.

"Oh dear." As upbeat as she normally was, she couldn't quite keep the dismay from her voice.

"…" He'd leaned over her shoulder to see the next area. The gel layer, under the city. Officially, no one was supposed to be living there. Everyone pretended that that was true, and everyone suspected it wasn't. They were supposed to canvass the storage sheds, the protected areas under solar panels, the landings of rarely used stair cases, all those nooks and crannies, for any humans that wouldn't or couldn't integrate in the rest of NLA. Some things had not been left behind on Earth.

They didn't have far to go to find their first candidate. 7 levels of stairs, and slumped at the final turn was a man in BLADE gear, sitting on the ground with a thermos of something at his. He was older, his dark hair shot with grey, and there was a dull expression in his eyes. Hope smiled gently at him and prepared to greet him, but to her surprise Phog stepped forward immediately and crouched next to the BLADE. He whispered steadily at the stranger, who seemed surprised by so direct an introduction. Hope would have interceded, but the older man was already nodding in agreement with Phog. He handed the blond a battered comm device. The two continued to speak in whispers, the older man croaking out answers to Phog's questions while Phog tapped away at the screen.

After a moment, Phog returned the device to the other BLADE with a murmured thanks. When he stood up, Hope noticed he wasn't ducking his head. Phog looked at her earnestly. "I hope it's all right that I got his permission to enter the data for him," said Phog. "It seemed the simplest way."

Hope blinked before nodding her agreement. "Do you want to stop now? We've done a full day already. We really don't need to continue."

"No. I think this will be okay."

* * *

 **a/n: What kind of a prompt is that? Fate worse than, come on, this is Mira, planet of a million ways to die. Plus the whole "enemies blew up my planet" thing, oh yes, that. I told my idea to Eldest Child, who promptly went pale and said, ". . . . ." So I knew this would work.**

 **Phog is hard for me to write. He's a gentle wacko soul with a side of reckless and selfish.**

 **Next up: Bicycle. I broke the rules and went a little long on that. 3 pages, for 3 Nopon, but only 2 wheels.**


	18. 18 Bicycle

**a/n: Three young Nopon build a skell. Lin is very excited until she is very not.**

 **Broke the rules, this being a little on the long side.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, but their versions of Nopon skells are different than mine.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 18 Bicycle_

Lin could hear the argument before she could see the Commercial District fountain. Initially, she thought the Mediator's panicked text was exaggerated, but from the sound of it, she was arriving in time to prevent an all out Nopon civil war.

"Meh meh meh," shouted the whiney voice of her sidekick Tatsu. "Ambassador for all Nopon clearly leadership material."

"Tora paid for it so Tora in charge." Lin stifled a groan. Tatsu's opponent was his official arch-nemesis, Tora, a model young merchant-in-training. In other words, Tora excelled at greed and duplicity. Compared to him, Tatsu was a shining angel of virtue and restraint.

A third voice joined the first two, and Lin not only released her restrained groan but did a quick facepalm as well. "Princess not right for stinky compartment. Princess perfect for riding high and being leader."

Lin could see the group now: her lumpy friend in moldy browns and greens, his yellow enemy decked in a flashy vest and oversized merchant medallion, and a very pink female Nopon, who in spite of her larger size managed to exude a cloud of delicacy from the flower tucked in her perfect head tuft to her tiny feet. "Warawa even less princess than Tora is prince," snapped Tatsu. "Only Tatsu recognized by NLA and caravans."

"Tatsu and Tora both dumbhead littlepon. Warawa fluffier and older, so best leader."

Before there could be more argument, Lin waded into the clump of angry furballs. "Okay, shut it you guys. I'm smarter than all of you combined, and I'm licensed to carry a gatling gun, so be quiet."

"Oh, Miss Lin," simpered Warawa. "Perfect for solving tricky situation. NLA's bestest skellfic author can solve anything." Lin remembered that Warawa was an aspiring fiction author herself, although her fantasy stories about enchanted Nopon princes and suspiciously pink damsels had yet to find much of an audience. Tora also nodded, remembering how she had been part of the team to help him earn (or rather, buy) his merchant's badge.

Lin looked meaningfully at Tatsu. Her friend quivered and started to explain. "Tora commission Nopon skell. Tatsu and Warawa help design it."

"What? You guys built a skell and never told me? How could you?!"

"Nopon pride," sniffed Tora. "Humans not needed for Nopon supremacy."

"I'm pretty cheesed at you now, Tatsu, but lemme see the skell and I'll sort of forgive you. Lemme pilot it, and you're totally forgiven."

"Not for human pilot," Tatsu said in apologetic tones. "Need three Nopon: high, medium and low."

"What does that mean, even?"

Tora interrupted. "Exactly what it sound like. Best, so-so, garbage. Tora, Warawa, Tatsu."

Lin shoved the snarky Nopon back a bit. "Explain, Tatsu."

"High sees road and directs. Medium defends, smash pow. Low gives skell go go go."

"Pilot, gunner, engineer. Okay, I got it." Lin looked at the three. "Tatsu, you better be engineer. You know the planet, but your eyesight..." She looked at his thick glasses, eternally fogged up. Tatsu gave a wail, but bowed his head in acceptance. Lin continued. "Better to have Tora be the pilot, since he's travelled more than Warawa."

"Warawa too lovely for fighting!" screeched the pink Nopon.

"Gunner needs strength and focus, and a princess defends her people," lectured Lin. "Are you telling me that Elma can't be gorgeous and tough at the same time?"

"Elma most excellent human," agreed Tatsu, sadly. "Also very supportive of fellow fighting BLADEs, often with snacks." Warawa's squeak of interested agreement proved that Tatsu wasn't so shabby in the negotiation department.

"Great, we're all set. Let's go test that skell." Lin paused. "This isn't some Nopon pipe dream, is it? Because I'm back to being totally cheesed if you raised my hopes for nothing."

"If excellent Lin follow leader of Team Tora please?" said Tora with all the suavity of a 13-year-old Ponzi scheme expert. Lin rolled her eyes, and the group moved off.

xcxcxcxcxcxcportportportcxcxcxcxcxcxc

Inside the Outfitters testing hall stood a vaguely familiar and yet utterly alien vehicle. It had two wheels, a seat, and handlebars. "This is a bicycle," screamed Lin in disappointment.

"Great, isn't it?" said Alexa with a grin. Lin's fellow Outfitter had joined them, grinning from ear to ear.

"And you didn't tell me?" Lin continued to scream. "I feel totally betrayed!"

"I sent you a ping this morning," Alexa said defensively.

"You said to come see a special skell this afternoon."

"Exactly."

"You sent the same text yesterday. The exact same text. And the day before that. And the day before that!"

"Exactly. So much special. So little time. Mmmmmm skellsssss."

Lin ignored her fellow skell enthusiast and inspected the Nopon skell more closely. It was easily 2 meters tall, and twice as long. The front wheel was open and narrow while the back one was at least a meter wide, fully enclosed and with a Nopon-sized door in the side. Balanced between them was a bucket seat with steering bar. Behind the bucket seat was a sort of shelf that formed a rear-facing seat, flanked by two woven baskets for saddlebags.

"Chop chop," snapped Tora. "Tora not renting hangar for longer than necessary." Tatsu gave another despondent wail, then climbed into the rear wheel.

"What's the power source they're using?" Lin whispered to Alexa. She wasn't sure that Tatsu would be able to cope with any complicated machinery.

"100% pure Nopon. The faster Tatsu runs, the faster the thing goes," Alexa said with a snort.

Meanwhile, Warawa had perched herself on the rear-facing seat, while Tora was settled proudly in the pilot's chair. "Behold the maiden journey of the Nopon 5000. MUSH!" shouted Tora. The skell creaked, then slowly began to move forward. By the time the skell had moved halfway across the open hall, the vehicle was moving at a remarkably fast clip. Alexa leaned over to Lin and whispered in her ear, "The ECP was skeptical about spending the resources on something this pointless, but the Nopon have some ideas about friction and ball bearings that Sakuraba is so gonna steal as soon as they figure out how they work."

Tora steered the lumbering machine around the perimeter of the hall, with Lin and Alexa standing in the center. "FIRE," he screamed suddenly. "Oh crap," said Alexa. Lin didn't have time to duck as a volley of mud balls splattered around and on her. She wiped the grime from her eyes to see Miss Warawa, a bundle of mud in each ear-wing, winding up for another pitch. All her dodging abilities were for naught. After the third round, Lin was plastered with mud from head to toe. Alexa was mostly clean. "Agility and anti-environment augments ftw," she said, smugly.

xcxcxcxcxcxportportportcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx

That evening, back at the barracks, two exhausted young teens were flopping on the broad sofas. Tatsu was so exhausted, he had only been able to eat one serving at dinnertime. LIn was still sneezing, spitting, and scratching off mud.

"Tatsu, remind me to tell you that you are the nicest Nopon I know."

A muffled response from the cushion where Tatsu lay face down. "Linly very kind."

"That isn't exactly a compliment."

* * *

 **a/n: There is a picture for it. Maybe I'll put it up on Twitter.**

 **Next up: Lamp shade. More Lin, more being cheesed at someone, less silly.**


	19. 19 Lampshade

Apriltober 2018 19 Lampshade

Lin darted away from the team before they had reached the Missions Board. "Hang on a second. I have a bone to pick with this guy."

The others followed more slowly, unsure why their youngest member was already arguing so fiercely with a surly-looking soldier. Only someone as fearless as Lin Lee Koo would be harangueing a brute like that. Hand on one hip, she was waving a finger in his face to emphasize every point she was making.

"It's disgusting, it's greedy, it makes us Outfitters look bad, it shows bad faith with the native population," she said, before pausing to take a deep breath.

"Leave me alone, you brat." He moved to pass her, but she stepped in his way, clearly intent on continuing her lecture. He looked over her shoulder at the rest of her team and reconsidered pushing her away. Instead, he crossed his arms firmly and frowned down at her.

"I'm not done. When I heard about you trying to sell those disgusting lampshades through L's store, I told him I'd tell you off the second I saw you. It's gross, it's ugly, it's..."

"It's none of your business. What do you know about making money anyway?" he growled down at her.

"Ah, you must be Gus. I heard you tried to convince L to sell indigen-skin lampshades," said Elma with nearly hidden disapproval. "I believe that plan went exactly nowhere. You can leave it alone, Lin."

"I'm not leaving it alone," Lin said shrilly. "Somebody needs to tell this creep to knock it off."

"No one's telling me to quit anything. If I find a way to make extra credits in my own time, I'm gonna do it."

"It's gross!" Lin repeated with passion. "We don't kill indigen just to get a trinket to decorate somebody's living room! That's not what we are!"

"Like that's not what humans have always been," Gus scoffed. "I don't see the high and mighty blue beanpole doing much different. He's got plenty weird crap in his place. He better not sell any knockoffs of my product or I'll bust him good."

"Almost all of L's products are vegetable or mineral based, if you haven't noticed. No indigens. All his materials are collected officially through the ECP," Elma commented cooly.

Gus shook his head angrily. "I get the stuff on my own, coming back from missions. If I bust my butt, the ECP ain't got a thing to say." He appealed to the last member of the team, a looming figure standing silently behind Lin. "Doug, help a brother out. You're all in for making an extra credit or two, right?"

"I make extra credits, sure. But I make 'em by doing missions. Official ones. The kind that are gonna keep us all alive." Doug, usually as quiet as he was large, started to talk fiercely. "A mission comes up at dinner time, I go out hungry and get it done. I'm out on Saturday morning when you haven't even rolled over, much less shaken your hangover. My skell belongs to BLADE, just like yours, just like everyone's. Any time I leave these walls, I'm going with one purpose. Making sure we survive."

The other man sneered. "Swell. I can sleep better at night, knowing the job's safe in your hands. It's none of your business how I get rich."

"I hear you lost most of your team last week," Doug added harshly.

"What about it?" Gus said, rolling his shoulders in a quick twitch.

"You have bad luck with teams."

"They're lousy. Guess they aren't as perfect as Elma's pets."

There was a pause. Surprisingly, Doug's voice was once again mild, perhaps slightly speculative, when he responded. "Seems to me that someday you're gonna need help. Maybe when that happens, I'll make it my business to make sure every Harrier within shouting distance is busy with something else. Interceptors and Pathfinders too. Keep that in mind when you make your choices."

"You can't do that."

"Karma is a ... what's the word I'm looking for, Lin?"

"A really mean person! Totally mean!" she said with a grin. "Better change your ways, Gus, because they are really truly gross!"

* * *

 **a/n: I put out a call for a character besides Murdress that would sell ivory trinkets, because I knew there had to be one. Someone suggested Gus. What a creep, the one who hurt Quincy's team. One of the few NPC's I didn't try to save.**

 **Next up: Basil. Yelv and a random Prone talk about the importance of good sleep routines. Not as boring as it could be.**


	20. 20 Basil

**a/n: Do J-bodies dream of electric sheep? Asking for a friend.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, including Yelv and the unnamed Prone that hangs out in his alley.**

* * *

 _Apriltober2018 20 Basil_

Yelv stood in his usual spot, rubbing his eyes fiercely.

"What's the matter with you?" rumbled a nearby Prone. "You try to drink with the Sylvalum-haired friend of yours?"

Yelv had to think a moment before he figured it out. "Oh, right, you must mean Frye. Naw, pard, if I'd done that, I'd be holding my head, or maybe looking for a new one. I'm just tired this morning."

"Sleep is important for fighters like us," blared the large alien. He flexed his blue muscles, almost blocking the narrow alley with his imposing figure. "Strength only comes from balance."

Yelv laughed and copied his pose momentarily, then slouched back against the wall. "I went to bed okay, maybe watched too many of videos, but nothing extra."

The Prone nodded sagely. "Frontier Nav full of delights."

"I know! There was one with a little green bird and a water bottle and..."

"I have seen that one!" replied the Prone, his voice a husky bellow. "It dances as it bathes! It is the precious!"

"I know, right? I guess I must have been thinking about it, because you would not believe the weird dreams I had. That's why I'm so tired."

"I did not know humans dream. I thought you were immune to that."

"Of course we dream. Do you guys dream?"

The Prone nodded. He clasped his hands and strained his muscles in another pose, which seemed to help him think. "We dream of hunting, and our clan, and more hunting."

"Work and friends for me, usually. This time was weird. I was dreaming of those big saltat birds, showering under a waterfall and bopping around to music, just like the video."

"A simple dream. Why does it make you tired?"

Yelv scratched his back against the alley wall. "I kept waking up because it was goofy. Soon as I'd fall asleep, I'd dream it again. I finally gave up."

"You should have returned to the dream and fought the saltat."

"No way. This was one of them big boys, the kind you find on the islands that float above the edge of that lake in Oblivia."

"In dreams, you are the big boy!" encouraged the alien.

"It wasn't gonna work that way. Right before I gave up on sleeping, one of them noticed me and blasted me but good. I found myself flying off the edge of the reef."

"Flying in dreams is good."

"Pard, it's only good for a second," complained Yelv. "Because you just know you're gonna fall eventually. It's a long way down to the surface of Lake Basel. Worse, everything went slow-motion and stuff." He closed his eyes, remembering. "The green water looked flatter than glass, and the edges of the reef were whooshing behind me, and I'm flailing my arms all directions, but I'm never getting closer. Ugh, no thanks." He straightened and grinned at the Prone. "I got an idea, though. Only cure for a dream is the real thing. I got an itch to bag me some saltat."

"Make sure you do not fall from the heights," advised the Prone.

"Aw, the fall won't kill me. We may not be immune to dreams, but there's a lot of things we don't have to worry about now. You've given me an even better idea."

* * *

 **a/n: Wheeeeeeeee! Inspired by the one image of Lake Basel i** **n the wiki. Yes, I know it's spelled BASEL in game. Fight me, parking lot of REI, the one across from the Japanese knife store, this Friday after lunch.**

 **Next up: 21 Orchid. I throw shade on Eleonora. I live dangerously.**


	21. 21 Orchid

**a/n: One possible explanation for why there are so many hibiscuses in NLA. If only there was a reason for all the tank tops.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 21 Orchid_

Solan swiped his screen with resolution. "Last point. Project Orchid." A ruffle of unease swept the room, as three of the four remaining members also pulled up the appropriate page, by turns eagerly or sulkily, and prepared to face the issue. So much promise, so close to the edge of disaster.

The fifth person remained poised and attentive, but she made no move to turn to the newest data, as she hadn't during the previous point, or the one before that. Solan wasn't sure why Eleonora even bothered to bring her comm device to the meetings if she never looked at the details. On the other hand, she had never NOT known any detail, right down to numbers that hadn't been completely distributed to all members yet. Once she'd corrected him, gently, on an issue he himself was presenting for the first time that day. He resumed his focus on the current issue and looked at the others. "Well?"

"The distribution has stalled. Only a handful have been purchased, even though we've has marked them down to an easily accessible price point, and introduced the newest color, lovestruck, which is, I believe, golden in color."

"That was the initial model's color," contradicted a blonde man. Kent was being his standard, hyper-specific self.

"You're thinking of the youthful one. Only the edges of that one are yellow. The new model is a solid color, much paler." Sherry nodded enthusiastically, lifting her comm device to demonstrate. "As you can see…."

"I don't think the color palette is going to make a difference," snapped Solan. "Any other suggestions?"

"Perhaps a different model entirely? Something with a different shape. Maybe a something that looks like a real orchid."

"The hibiscus form was chosen to meet specific needs," Eleonora put in simply.

Time to move the discussion along, because that was that, though Solan. There would be no changing the shape. "Without changing the antennae, how can we distribute them more widely?"

Suggestions and counter-arguments bloomed. "Celebrity endorsement." "Do we have celebrities?" "Free with pizza." "We'd get too many civilians." "Free with skell insurance." "The Harriers would get them all. We want even distribution." "Add treasure augments." "The weather augment is necessary for transmission."

Eleonora sighed. "We're trying too hard. Distribution isn't the real goal. It would be better to reach a select few than ten times as many of the weaker BLADEs."

"Present them to team leaders only, then," suggested Solan. "That might work. If we can monitor the leader of any team out in the field, we'd get a thorough view of activities."

"It might even make them more popular. People with aspirations would wear them,' chimed in Kent.

Sherry objected. "Two problems: a lot of BLADEs are leery of hierarchy. They might not want signs of it that obvious. Second, I don't think team leaders want a bright pink rank insignia on their foreheads. Kinda works as a target for the enemy."

"Third point: We already have an entry point for following up on teams," Eleonora said modestly. She turned to the last member of the group, until then silent. "Professor B., you haven't given a suggestion. Any thoughts?"

"You want to cover the &9&*%$ odd ducks, but not the weak ones. The ones that might just go off and cause trouble."

"Perhaps."

A fierce frown creased his strange visage. "Make them harder to get. Not as a #$. /. -3%*%&, because that's too obvious. Make them a pointless award."

Solan shook his head. "No one will want them then."

"They won't want them, but they'll wear them as proof they did the *%*). .(^ thing. Especially the # . .-((} weirdos you're most interested in."

Eleonora smiled brilliantly. "I know just the challenge. Thank you, Professor."

* * *

 **a/n: It's going to be interesting how Fan Fiction messes up Prof. B's speech in an effort to prevent http linkage. Best explanation I've heard for tank tops: Vandham molts them.**

 **Next up: 22 Spray Bottle. Have I mentioned that H.B. and Frye are terrible friends? That holds true outside of NLA as well.**


	22. 22 Spray Bottle

**a/n: Frye and H.B. in Oblivia, fighting indigen in new ways.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, but I may have invented some new weaponry.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 22 Spray Bottle_

The sandstorm buffeted the walls of the temporary station, pinging against the thin walls. Slightly louder pings occasionally reminded H.B. that there was good cause for him to be stranded there. The high winds hurled small rocks as well as intensely abrasive sand. A smaller storm could be braved during a short mission, but one like this was best avoided even for the briefest of details.

"Stop pacing," muttered one of the other BLADEs in the room.

H.B. stopped and looked down at him. Frye was lying flat on the floor along the edge of the room, one arm flung over his face. He'd responded to neither H.B.'s movements nor the occasional laughs of the two other station hands, playing yet another round of a boisterous card game. "Shouldn't you be groaning?" H.B. inquired acidly. "You look like you're a hit-and-run victim."

"I know what hit me, and I know who was driving. I got too much pride to groan," replied Frye. He patted the floor next to him blindly with his spare hand. "Sit down and take a load off, bud."

"No," replied H.B. primly. However, he maneuvered a folding chair closer to Frye and made himself, if not comfortable, then at least more stationary. "I thought you were supposed to be drying out in this desert. It certainly is appropriately arid."

"I am officially and totally dry, and if you could mention that to Pappy Vandham next time you fanboy at him, I'd appreciate it," replied Frye. H.B. was astonished to see the man grin even as he winced. It must be a spectacular hangover to make Frye lie down in pain. "I also know a lot more about sandstorms now. This one'll blow itself out before you know it."

"I doubt it."

"Hey, trust me. Not much else to do here but listen to the weather."

H.B. shifted uncomfortably on the flimsy plastic chair. "No, I meant, I highly doubt that you have learned moderation during your stay at this establishment."

"HQ sent me out here to learn something, and HQ is always right," Frye said. "Stop jiggling your leg like that. You make the floor bounce." He levered himself painfully onto one elbow and looked up at H.B. "You get in one fight in a diner parking lot and people get touchy."

"From the reports I read, Nopon were launched."

"Not my fault that the Prone took to the idea of volleyball but weren't interested in officially licensed products. We were just trying to restore calm." He stood up, stretched with another grimace, and straightened his dusty armor. "Hear that? Storm's about over."

The card players had also noticed something that had eluded H.B.'s attention. They had stowed away the deck of cards and were pulling colorful gadgets from a locker. Frye joined them. "Why don't you grab a spray bottle and pose as an Interceptor for a while?" he called over to H.B.

H.B. scrambled to grab the item that Frye tossed to him. It was a super-soaker water gun, complete with exaggerated bulbs and tubing, all in garish neon greens and pinks. He almost threw it back into Frye's face. "Do you expect me to go play games with you now?" he sputtered.

Frye was already heading out the door. "My dude, that's good quality gear. We need it, after the storms. Gotta keep the critters from gnawing on the station."

"What?" H.B. chased behind Frye, then pulled to an immediate halt. Surrounding the area were several juvenile grex. H.B. did a rapid count. Eight of them, possibly a single litter, small for their species but still larger than a human, swishing their long tails happily and chewing on every piece of equipment surrounding the station. This included H.B.'s skell.

Before he could shout in horror, a stream of water hit the ear of the guilty grex. It yipped and scrambled away. "Scat!" yelled Frye. He turned to look at H.B. "After a storm, the adults are busy out hunting, trying to make up lost time. Which leaves the pups unattended, plus I'm pretty sure they're bored silly from being cooped up for a few hours. I feel for the little guys." He returned to soaking the indigen.

H.B. tested his weapon and found it very effective. It was accurate as well, he noted with satisfaction as he directed a stream into the eye of a larger animal.

"Hey, don't do that." Frye grabbed the muzzle of the soaker and pushed it towards the sand. 'We just shoo them off. We don't want to hurt them." Frye released H.B.s weapon and aimed at another grex, one busy toppling the picnic table with its snout. The jet of water danced across the animal's side, and the creature rolled over in apparent enjoyment. Frye laughed. "Fine, I'll scratch your belly, but then you gotta scoot." He applied the spray to the stomach of the indigen, who gave several seemingly happy yips. Then he gave it a gentle shove with a boot, and the grex scampered to join its fellow pack as they raced away. Frye emptied his weapon in their direction, arcs of water falling harmlessly into the sand.

"We tried it, just for fun, the week after I landed here. I get bored after a storm too, if you catch my drift. Turns out, it works just as well as slaughtering them." He collected H.B.'s soaker with a grin. "See, H.B.? I gotta be learning something."

* * *

 **a/n: I enjoy these two. There will be more of them in a bit. But, oh! how I suffered because I couldn't name the two NPCs.**

 **Next up: Rearranged. Very short, with Chausson, Nagi, and Vandham.**


	23. 23 Rearranged

**a/n: Chausson is fussy, or maybe he is observant. He definitely is right.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 23 Rearranged_

"I'm telling you, somebody rearranged the furniture," insisted the Director General.

"It looks perfectly normal to me," argued the hulking figure across from him.

"I think not." Chausson's face was even more pinched than normal.

Vandham glared at him. He sat down heavily, then pushed himself violently up from the table. Nagi's morning tea jiggled over the edge of the conference table, but was caught before it could come to grief.

"Well I'll be damned. You're right," said Vandham.

Nagi cradled his cup and looked at the Commander with patience. Vandha grinned. "I've pounded this table a billion times, and launched myself almost but not quite at lizard man here almost as many times. I know how to do it without messing with your morning caffeine. I don't have a death wish."

"Who would do this?" Nagi considered.

Chausson ignored both insult and question, and recited a well-worn list. The other two were reminded that he had the most experience with unwanted survellance, having served as the vice-president of the United States (back when there still was such a thing, and such a planet) and therefore had spent many years as a continual target. "First step, the room should be swept for listening devices. Looking devices as well."

"We can check the corridor camera logs," muttered Vandham. "Door access records too. Not that they can't be compromised, but maybe they were sloppy."

"Would the Ma-non be of help?" suggested Nagi.

Chausson shook his head sharply. "Not to state the obvious, but I don't think letting xenos, even allies, know of a potential breach is wise."

Vandham huffed. "We don't have to give them the deets, Maurice. I'll ask if they've been getting any weird chatter. I've asked them to listen for it anyway." He frowned. "Got nothing, by the way."

Maurice raised a hand. "I would suggest tabling any further discussions until the initial steps have been taken. Shall we conclude our meeting early?"

Out on Administrative Drive, a trim blonde figure was momentarily distracted, but her smile never waivered. If one goal had failed, it wasn't something that she'd counted on. Her main intent, to send a warning, had been achieved.

* * *

 **a/n: The shortest so far, I think, but tell me I'm wrong, I dare you.**

 **Next up: 24 Seance - Also short. The Blood Lobster quest made me cry, I'm returning the favor.**


	24. 24 Seance

**a/n: There are many kinds of mercy on Mira. I'm not sure which kind this is.**

 **Spoilers to Blood Lobster.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 24 Seance_

The man whispered into the pale dirt, his lips moving the grit with each word. "The city is only a séance. Taps and hints from the other side, sending us the messages we crave. But the truth? The truth? It's all fakery. Wires are being pulled, rubbed with rosin to make the wails we take for guidance. Who pulls them, who sends us the directions to make us be good? Who lifts the table to make the cloth flutter and prove what we want is what is real?"

The spotlights along the edges of the cavern sharpened every shadow. He was alone, pressed to the ground, not by restraints, but by edges of darkness. The widest strip, the one that formed his prison, was cast by a skell bay, several months empty now. When he turned his head slightly, the lingering smell of oil stirred from the loose ground. The weapon that oil had dripped from was long gone. He'd been granted it for one purpose, and he'd been denied.

"It wasn't failure," he whispered to himself. "The truth was shown. It doesn't matter that we're all dead. We're all gone. Burnt, burnt, empty, gone. We are a show, pulled by wires. We are puppets. Tools to tell the story. Some must be heroes; the rest must serve. Nothing else."

The guards patrolling the edges were bored. They wouldn't care about what he was saying, even if they could hear his whispers. When he sensed fellow humans who visited him like ghosts he would wail for relief, but he didn't want anything from the enemy. They gathered in twos and threes, hiding behind concrete wedges, masked by the shadows. If he stood up, walked towards the mouth of the cave, wide open, would they shoot him down? The last thing he wanted. That would erase him, be the last proof that he had failed.

"Not failure. Revelation! We took the threads into our own hands, sent the truth, proved so much more than the messages from the past. Those were echoes. Our story was the truth, the way. We showed the ghosts for what they were: lies. We showed that truth was still strong, even if the city is empty. Because it is empty. Husks rustling, not aware that they have been dead for years, for decades, empty and slowly rubbing themselves into dust."

There were light footsteps just beyond the entrance, so far away that anyone less attuned to his prison would have missed them. He sat up, shouted for companionship, no, not companionship, for conclusion, but the footsteps moved past, leaving him. He tipped his head back and howled his lungs empty. When he was forced to suck in a breath, he shook his head madly, then pressed his face back into the dirt.

"A séance, begging for ghosts. But I never asked for you. Ghosts aren't real. Everyone knows that. You need to be quiet. You aren't real." He repeated his arguments again, about heroes and the city, for the thousandth time, to what he was sure was no one, because ghosts aren't real. He'd left those false voices behind on Earth. The ones on Mira had been different.

"We told the new story, the right one," he repeated. "And our ending will happen, I know it. I just need to wait. I just need to wait."

* * *

 **a/n: I cried for three days. THREE DAYS. I played it both ways, crash quitting, and finally could not choose anything but what I chose. Someday, I'll put up the full story, and you will understand why I am so incredibly protective of my baby Cross Case the Headcase. Feel free to hate the dude and move on, but this quest hit me like a truck. (Question: name a quest that didn't hit you like a truck, Null? Me: Shut up.)**

 **Next up: Uppity. Indulgent pointless fun with Alexa and Lin and skells.**


	25. 25 Uppity

**a/n: Alexa and Lin talk politics and skells and behavior and skells and skells.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 25 Uppity_

Lin hung over the edge of the thermal missile launcher, resting at the foot of the skell and waiting to be installed. She peered up at the woman dangling from the great machine. "I'm not really uppity, am I?" she asked worriedly.

"Pass me that wrench, Lin," replied Alexa distractedly. She had one arm wrapped around the neck of the skell but freed her other hand to reach down towards the ground.

"Why don't you use a ladder?" asked Lin, standing on tiptoe to pass the tool. She had to toss it the last half meter.

Alexa caught it neatly, then smacked the skell along its jaw, i.e. the upper edge of the pilot's capsule. A small window popped open and Alexa reached in and rummaged around. She leapt off as the skell knelt and the door to the capsule opened with a hiss. She gave a satisfied snort. "I keep telling 'em to leave their skells unlocked, but some of the big city guys just can't break the habit. I could always ask Tika for an override, but this is faster. What were you talking about, Lin?"

"About the meeting today. You don't think I was talking too much, do you?"

"Lemme think. The meeting with Sakuraba? If I recall correctly, you were talking about skells. So ... I'm going to go with ... ARE YOU JOKING WITH ME BECAUSE NO YOU WEREN'T TALKING NEARLY ENOUGH DUHHHHHH!" She bent down to replace the wrench, subject settled.

"But I was the only one talking. No one responded."

"We talked plenty, Lin, mostly asking the important questions: What do you need, how's it gonna work, how much is it gonna cost, how high do we have to jump, and how fast can we get it. So, how fast _are_ we gonna make flight modules standard equipment anyway?"

"I wasn't clear enough about it then, I guess," said Lin worriedly. "You see, if we can gather..."

Alexa interrupted her. "I'm just messing with you. You were perfectly clear, and I have the timeline stamped onto my brain, Lin."

"I was so nervous. I'm sure I missed something."

"Nope. You covered everything, in glorious detail. And don't worry that people didn't get the important parts, because the Commander had his own little prayer meeting right after you left. It was shorter and more pointed. Everybody is on the same page, trust me." Alexa stopped fiddling with the skell long enough to examine the young Outfitter. "What's gotten up your nose?"

Lin didn't meet her eyes. "Out in the hall, I overheard somebody saying other people should have gotten a chance to present," she muttered, tapping the skell's treads gently with one shoe.

"Snore. Next meeting can be all about the new and improved photon beam sabre that Doug drools about or the swisher bang-bang of legendariness the Nopon keep promising. Today was skells. SKELLS! FLYING MOTHER OF MERCY TAKE MY HEART ALREADY SKELLS!" Alexa grabbed Lin's hands and jumped up and down.

"You're just biased," Lin said, jumping along weakly, but there was the beginning of a smile on her face.

"Straight up I am." Alexa released her dance partner and spread her arms wide. "I am here to spread the good news about skells, any day of the week. But let's be real." She shifted her hands to Lin's shoulders. Her voice was utterly serious. "If we had your module when we were defending NLA, we wouldn't have taken the same number of casualties. We could maybe have kept the battle from taking place in our home. That's last week's news, but it isn't any better today. Our number's up on the tower for everyone to see. Flight is cool, so very cool, but more importantly, we need it bad."

"So I wasn't uppity," Lin asked, needing a little bit more reassurance.

"Girl, lemme say one last thing: Hector Freaking Uppity Birtwhistle, aka HFUB. Compared to him, we are all Downity Down McDownface."

* * *

 **a/n: I'm running out of ideas and have started doing mindless easy stories. But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.**

 **next up: Line 86. Mindless, stupid story, mostly making fun of the boys. Then Frye makes me cry.**


	26. 26 Line 86

**a/n: The boys are filling out their income tax forms. It isn't easy for Yelv, but that's nothing compared to Frye's troubles.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Apriltober 2018 26 Line 86

"Gah, I hate this. Why don't they just take what they want?" Yelv shoved his comm device away and pouted.

Across the table, H.B. frowned with disapproval. "That would be a nasty surprise when you look at your bank balance."

"It would be a nice surprise if I found anything besides zeros there. You think maybe they'll add something to it instead of taking money out?"

"No."

"Then what's the point of doing this? Its cutting into my rec time. Even Frye's only had two beers." Yelv gestured at the table and its relative lack of beverages.

H.B. adjusted his glasses and said patiently, "The purpose of getting together was to encourage each other to complete our tax forms well before the deadline. Solidarity and that sort of thing."

"Also, you can do our math homework for us if we promise to be nice to you," Yelv joked.

"While I'm not entirely convinced that the ECP is correct in their plan, I can see why they want to normalize financial behavior in New Los Angeles," H.B. continued.

"Huh?" Yelv shook his beach blond head in confusion.

"We need to start behaving like we did on Earth," whispered an even blonder man. Phog turned to the oldest member at the table. "Right?"

Frye didn't respond. He was staring stoney faced at the form on his screen.

"Right," encouraged H.B. "We've all made it this far, only a few more lines to go. Now take the larger of lines 61 and 72. Which one is larger for you, Yelv?"

"Man, I wrote them both pretty small. They don't give you much space for it," he complained.

"Oh for the love of short forms, you haven't been _**writing**_ the numbers in, have you? You need to type them in for the calculations to work. How have you gotten this far?"

"Duh. You did all the math for me whenever I asked," Yelv explained as if it were obvious.

"Never mind. I'll type it in for you in a minute. Let's get the rest of us done at least. Phog?" encouraged H.B.

"3400.88 credits," stammered Phog.

"What?"

"That's what they sent me back as a refund. I sent in the form last month."

"Then why are you sitting here?" snapped H.B.

Phog shrugged and shifted closer to his brother. "I wanted to keep Frye company."

"Fine, at least we'll get your brother's taxes finished."

"And yours, pard!" cheered Yelv.

"I don't need support! I'll get mine done in time."

"Lemme see..." Yelv snatched H.B.'s device away from him. "Hey, your form is blank!"

"I was too busy doing the arithmetic in my head for your form, Yelv. Honestly, I'll get it done on my own. Now, Frye," H.B. said with exasperation. "Where are you? Is the amount you've paid larger than the amount of tax?"

Frye had been staring silently at his device during all the shifts of conversation, and his response was slow. "I'm stuck."

"Which line are you on?"

"I'm stuck," he repeated with a rusty voice. "On line 78. Amount you owe."

"It's simple, Frye. Just subtract ..."

Frye cut off H.B.'s pedantic directions. "Amount I owe. How about everything? My life. My family. My future? I'm not sure what to put as payment. Where do I start?" His eyes flashed wildly at his friends for a moment. "Loyalty and hard work seem pretty small. I'd write down 'life's blood' except I don't got that anymore."

"It's okay, Frye," Phog whispered.

"I got two hands and 24 hours in the day. That's the best I can give." Frye blinked at the others, then grinned wildly. "Hope they'll accept an installment plan, you get me?"

* * *

 **a/n: Silly, silly, then I read the line and it got real. I love Frye.**

 **Next up: Daily Planner. Somebody didn't feel like writing skell fanfiction. Sorry about that.**


	27. 27 Daily Planner

**a/n: Even the most dedicated skell fanfiction author has a down day.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and there was no self-insertion going on here. NONE! Why would you ask?**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 27 Daily Planner_

I'm so sorry, all my fellow skellfanfiction fans, but my brain is mush. Tatsu hosted a Nopon scout troop meeting for his little sisterpon, and my ears are still ringing. Also, there is something sticky on the kitchen floor and my feet now make a "tik tik" sound whenever I walk across it. The cat is traumatized too, because every single littlepon wanted to pet it. It can disappear fast enough when it's mad at me, but somehow it couldn't escape eight littlepon, each with their own follow ball and a willingness to leap over the sofa. So there won't be any fanfiction today. Sorry.

Also, who came up with this prompt anyway? "Daily planner." I mean, how boring is that? Maybe some grown-up can find it fascinating, but not this girl. If it were something like "toothy" or "missile" or "skell", maybe I'd summon the energy for it.

If the prompt were "skell", you know darn tooting I'd summon some kind of energy.

I'm not sure I know anyone with a daily planner. Well, okay, I guess I know plenty. Take the Director General, Chausson. He was vp on Earth, so you know he must have one, a really swanky one, bound in leather or something, and in triplicate, reaching years into the future. Every night I bet he reviews it and jots a few notes. He's already writing our history in his head, I can just feel it, and the thought of having to do a book report on it keeps me up at night.

I guess daily planners are useful. I know Hope has one too. I peeked once, and it was jammed with appointments she had made. Don't worry, she didn't let me see any names. But it got me, how many people she was helping every day. So, fellow fans, don't worry, Hope's got you all safe in her book, and she'll never let you down. I really like Hope.

Speaking of Chausson, I just bet Nagi has one too, but something slim and smart. It probably only has one or two things a day. "Kick butt" or "be totally OP" or "tea with Miss Koo 10am". Which reminds me, I should whip up some of those matcha meringues he likes, except the floor is gross. TATSU, YOU NEED TO MOP THE FLOOR!

Hee hee, Commander Tank Top just writes things on his arms with permanent marker. I've seen it, it's totally true! Mostly damage equations and shopping lists for the industrialists, and tally marks for which teams are going out to which continents. I know that H.B. keeps nagging him about organization, but personally I think that's only going to make the Commander more stubborn about it.

Wanna hear a secret? I think Eleonora is a walking daily planner in kicky little heels. If she hasn't gotten everyone's schedules jacked straight into her brain, I will eat Lara Mara's armor. Lara Mara does not have a daily planner, but he does have a to-do list, does that count? No, it does not.

I'm not sure what the xenos have in the way of daily planners. I guess I should ask around. I'm going to list my guesses, and maybe next week I'll tell you what was right!

Not liking them: Ma-non and Prone, because the Ma-non are anarchists and the Prone are too much in the moment. But they still get stuff done, which I can't quite explain.

Liking them: Honestly, Wrothians. I know they're claiming to be pirates and rogues and junk, but they secretly like order and direction, so maybe they hide them. Orphe love checking off boxes, so I bet they have them too. Zaruboggans would like them. I don't have any reason for thinking that, but if they have them, they'd sure be monotonous. "Enjoyed voltant." "Enjoyed voltant." "Did not find enough voltant."

Now there is one xeno group I do know about: Nopon. Fellow skell fans, I can confirm that they have daily planners, although they look like strings of leaves, and they are wildly inaccurate. When you look in one, it'll list twenty different deliveries and meetings with important clients, or events for volunteer charitable organizations that didn't exist. If they don't want to talk to you, they wave them in your face and claim to be too busy. If they realize you have something they want, they wave them again and suddenly find a spot, just for you. Drives Irina up the wall when they do this, but Elma is fairly calm about it. So I guess their daily planners are aspirational. Some are kinda cute, like their comm devices, and look more like flowers than leaves. Hope tells me the littlepon constantly get in trouble for nibbling on the edges of their planners during the classes that people are trying to develop for them.

Which reminds me, I haven't checked my school planner for a couple days and … oh no. OH NO! I totally forgot about the English project I need to finish, about that guy that catches a big fish and … well, I gotta admit, I haven't quite finished it. I'm blaming Tatsu for that too, because he started singing about how tasty fish are and wouldn't shut up until we went out to get some. I never got back to it, what with anything else being more interesting. Literally anything, including Nopon scout meetings.

So I guess I really will miss today's episode of skell fanfiction, but I promise, absolutely promise, that tomorrow I'll write something really good. I'll even fudge the prompt, if you want me to. "Like" if you want to hear about Verus, "resend" if you want to hear about Mastema.

* * *

 **a/n: The meeting involved paint. PAINT! THEY STAYED FOR AN EXTRA HOUR AND WOULD NOT LEAVE! And still I got it done, sort of.**

 **Next up: Chickens. L. Hilarity ensues.**


	28. 28 Chickens

**a/n: Everyone's favorite blue shopkeeper is raising chickens. The ECP isn't pleased. Elma said she'll talk to him about it.**

 **All the good things (except for the chickens) belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 28 Chickens_

Elma approached L's store with determination but also with concern. The request from the ECP that she Do Something had been absolute, but at the same time they had encouraged her to be diplomatic. Elma well knew that L's combination of enthusiasm and apparent naivete could lead to chaos. No one had ever proved he knew the rules he'd broken in pursuit of business opportunities, but sometimes she doubted that the tall alien was as ignorant of human norms as he seemed.

Even before she'd reached the end of Armory Alley, the problem was apparent. The chickens. Mostly brown feathered, with a few white and black ones sprinkled into the mix. They scooted across the street, perched on crates, strutted around consoles. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a speckled one tugging at a power cord to the augment development station. She paused to shoo it away, and it fluttered into the air for a second, landing a meter away. It made an irritated "gurr gurr" sound and turned its attention to pecking the deck.

She couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching her progress. Their eyes were fixed, but she would have bet their little heads tilted and twitched in her direction as she continued towards L's store. His odd caravan station was clearly the center of the flock. The chickens were thickly settled among the ferns that decorated the edges of his area, cuddled against each other sleepily. As L continued to do his business, offering limited upgrades to armor as well as more arcane objects, he stepped nimbly around his new business associates, as well as their slimy white-green messes.

"L, we need to talk about your pets," Elma began, waving broadly to indicate the poultry. In response, the chickens shifted slightly with a ruffling motion.

"Not pets, dear Colonel. We have acquired a new business interest in life, and it has come home to roost."

"I'm afraid the ECP has concerns about them."

"Competition? We believed that we were the only going concern for chickens."

"The ECP is concerned from an environmental perspective. We think they may become an invasive species."

"And such a delightful invasion, unlike others we can mention. But how can they be invasive if we positively gave the invitation?"

"How did you get so many? And from where?" Elma's need to understand distracted her for a moment.

"When we saw how spectacularly the Lifehold can replicate human animals, we hoped for many new options."

"You've been using the Lifehold to create chickens? No one has been allowed access, except for a few …."

"We have a good friend that brought us a dozen eggs. Worry not, he did not place them all in a basket." L beamed at Elma while she distractedly considered which Reclaimer had been dumb enough to do that. He continued, "After that, the chickens have been providing us with more chickens."

She frowned at this falsehood. "Not at the rate they've been appearing."

"We have modified an incubator, with an eye to efficiency." L sighed sadly. "We will admit, our initial intentions were in another sample, but alas, we _still_ have not been given permission to sample a cat yet."

"L, I'm sure someone has explained about that already."

"We do have some understanding of human culture, no matter how peculiar. In truth, it is one of our favorite hobbies, matching words to actions. We knew there would be no problem hatching a flock and then partaking it from there."

"The ECP is concerned they'll get out of the city."

"Fear not. Each of our feathery army is equipped with beak and claws. They'll do fine."

"That's the worry. We don't want them to become established in the environment without knowing the effects."

"But Colonel, that's the wonderful side-effect of our business: we have no idea what will happen! Except for bar-b-que, which will happen regularly and deliciously."

Before Elma could deliver her ultimatum, Lin bustled up to them, eyes glowing with joy. Her arms were full of a rather agitated fat bird. "Isn't this the best, Elma? They're everywhere, and they let you pick them up, and they make the best noises, and some of them are so fluffy!" She cuddled the hen enthusiastically.

"And they are more tasty than Nopon," added L.

"MEH MEH MEH HOW L KNOW?" cried Lin's eternal sidekick.

"It is a human compliment for something to taste like chicken. So be rejoiced, young Tatsu. Nopon are no longer the best white meat on Mira, because what could taste more like chicken than chickens?

* * *

 **a/n: Youngest Child used to take care of the Neighbor Chickens. I liked the clucking noises they made, but their feet are scary.**

 **Next up: Talented. Prone and human meet and dance.**


	29. 29 Talented

**a/n: And Thus, Human Met Prone.**

 **Spoilers to Forbidden Love.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and they did good romance in XCX, just saying.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 29 Talented_

"Join our dance," she insisted.

He'd been watching this group of Prone several nights now, but he'd always been too shy to talk to them. Besides, he wasn't here to dance. He had to watch the construction cranes, keeping away anyone intent on mischief. He probably should have asked this group to leave, but it was obvious they meant no harm. Their only objective was to join together and enjoy the night. They were all young, the females wearing lighter costumes than the matrons of their clan, the males sporting fewer scars than their fathers and uncles. He'd enjoyed their unacknowledged company during his evening patrols. But tonight one of the dancers had called out to him, gestured for him to come closer, and then made this request.

He recognized her. She was the best dancer of the group, no question. Other Prone swayed or fluttered, but her footsteps were always strong and quick. She wasn't there to be pretty or amusing – she was there to dance, and dance hard. He admired that. He'd noted that her clothing was slightly different from the other dancers. She wore proper boots, not slippers, and her armlets were sturdy leather. Most notably, she wore an elaborate golden helm that swept past her forehead in an almond-shaped arch. He wondered if maybe she weren't a warrior as well as a dancer.

"I'm ... uh ... I'm supposed to be patrolling this corner of the Commercial district."

She turned her head to scan the glowing tower in the distance. "I know when your duty ends, human, and it ends now. I am correct?"

He checked the tower himself, then pulled out his comm device to confirm. "Uh, yes, I guess. Have I been that obvious? I didn't mean to annoy you guys. You're welcome to dance here."

She reached for one of his gloved hands, tugging him towards the group. "You have not distressed us, but I have worried that you did not feel welcome yourself. I would be glad if human aliens danced with Prone."

"Really?" he said with surprise. "I agree with you, well, maybe not exactly about dancing, but I think humans and Prone could make great allies. Not just against the Ganglion, but as part of a peaceful city."

"I am very glad to know you think likewise. So many of my people do not see that we have found a new home. They cling to the old ways, the old lost world."

"I guess. It's the same for us, except we can't go back." Leroy shook his head sadly.

"Then you go forward. If you can dance as you do so, all the better. Come and dance with us," she asked again.

"I suppose. But you'll have to forgive me," he hesitated. "I'm not really much of a dancer."

"A poor excuse."

He reddened. "I guess I can learn. Or I can try."

She released his hand and twirled away, calling over the curve of her shoulder. "I believe in you. There must be a first step, in dancing and in friendship. I am Lavina, by the way."

He knew that already. He'd heard the other Prone calling to her during the week. But it seemed a little creepy to say that, so he simply replied, "I'm Leroy."

* * *

 **a/n: I finally watched both options for this quest, and I'll tell you this: Leroy is not a chump. I supported him my first run and he looked weak, but I may hesitate when I do my second run, should Nintendo ever port this baby DO YOU HEAR ME NINTENDO? SOON WOULD BE GOOD OKAY? (Please please please and thank you in advance.)**

 **This story and the next are the first times I didn't use the prompt word in the story proper.**

 **Next up: The last one, #30 Growing Up. featuring the irrepressible Mia.**


	30. 30 Growing Up

**a/n: Mia writes a letter about all her adventures.**

 **Big fat spoilers to all of Mia's quests. There's some fun gameplay there, so get on it.**

 **All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

 _Apriltober 2018 30 Growing up_

Dear Dad and Pops,

I haven't written in a while, I know, but I'm sure you understand. In fact, you probably already guessed: life here has been really busy. But it's also really full of good things, just like you always told me it would be.

I'll start with the best news: I'm a member of BLADE! Well, a member in training, but it's officially recognized. It makes a change from always going out on my own. Don't worry, I'm still super independent (no surprise!), but now I also get to go out with some fun teams.

It didn't happen all at once. Actually, it didn't happen at all when I first applied. They wouldn't even let me try. That's when I decided I just had to do all my exploring solo. (You know me – I'm not the kind to sit around and wait.) I know you would have supported me about going out on my own at first. That's what you always did, and I'm clearly your daughter. I'll admit, I got into a few scrapes, maybe more than a few, but I kept going. And now they've recognized me!

I've seen some beautiful places. Sometimes it's exactly because of my troubles that I've seen them. One time, a simply ginormous bird picked me up and tried to carry me away. It was scary, sure, but you'd have been proud of me. I stabbed that baby, right in its monstrous yet squishy eyeball. That sure taught it a lesson. Once it dropped me, I was able to appreciate the desert landscape as I fell. The river cutting through the sands, the giant carved rings, the deep purple chasm, there was a lot to take in. Luckily I had a long time to appreciate it. A really long time. Really really long time. It certainly made an impression, kinda like how I made an impression on the ground when I landed. More like a smallish crater. I still dream about it.

It's all part of the dangers of exploration, right? I know I have a lot to learn. Still, you can trust your baby girl to be learning. Or at least taking notes on what to work on when I get a chance. There's so much to see on this new planet! So I'm not slowing down, even if it hampers the whole learning to do better thing. Also the making the list thing, it's kind of a downer to look at something like that, but I totally have a mental list somewhere.

Another time, I met some really persistent aliens, who had all sorts of creepy plans and no concept of personal space. I had wandered into an new area; I don't think you'd have liked it. Not much to climb, to begin with, and a major attraction is lava: lava pools, lava falls, lava spewing giant floating fish. It used to be inhabited (probably by people that summer in Death Valley, whoo it is hot), but all the buildings are ruins now. Nothing but bronze columns and feathered arches, slowly pitching into the lava. At least, I thought it was uninhabited until I met some aliens. They looked human enough, but they have NO concept of personal space and are just plain annoying. As in, "our mission is to kill humanity" annoying. That kind. One of them tried to mimic me, but Chief saw through it right away, and busted me out of jail. Happy ending!

That's the other great news: my new friend. You know how you always explored together? I also found someone I can trust to back me up. Before I started my own adventure, I needed a teensy bit of sponsorship. Well, the first person I asked to help me turned out to be just the best ever. I know I said I went adventuring by myself, but I'm the first to admit that I couldn't have done it without backup I could rely on. We even have nicknames for each other: "Chief" and "Adorable adventurous protégée and future rival". (Bet you can guess which one is me!) We compliment each other perfectly: I'm usually short on cash and I'm still not very good at combat (ha ha not at all good, because guns will never be my thing) and I lose things, and Chief is the exact opposite! Like totally great at fighting and always willing to get my butt out of a jam. We're sure to go on all sorts of wacky adventures, and I'll fill you guys in when it happens.

Whoops, better wrap it up. I hear some Nopon outside, probably needing to hire a guide or bodyguard - I'll tell you about those precious and fluffy greedheads next time. I promise the next letter will be sooner. I know you can't don't need to hear it, because I'm sure you know it all already, but I love you guys and miss you and want you to be proud of me. Silly me, I already know you're proud of me, because I'm proud of me!

Love and tons of kisses,  
your totally awesome and adventurous daughter,  
Mia  
xxxoooxxxoooxcxooo

* * *

 **a/n: I'm proud of you too. Thanks for reading. It's been a fun run, although a little more challenging for me - so many nameless NPCs that I'm dying to name. Drop me a note and tell me what was your favorite story/character/style.**

 **P.S. A polished version of Tripod will show up in a fanzine, later this summer. It will have art and stories from a whole bunch of people.**

 **I've seen some of the art previews  
and they are nothing short of  
SPECTACULAR  
(drool)  
**


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